Wishes
by Airelle Vilka
Summary: Twenty years after graduation, Airelle Vilka reunites with Severus Snape and becomes a professor at Hogwarts. But as they struggle to renew their strange friendship, an ancient evil arises that threatens to destroy all they have worked for. (COMPLETE)
1. The First Day

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Professor of Illusions

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Summary: Airelle is a teacher at Hogwarts. So is Snape. Oh, dear, what a combination… (SEQUEL TO WINTER ONCE AGAIN)

Chapter 1 The First Day

_I'm going completely insane, _thought Airelle Vilka as she lay slumped on her bed in one of the towers of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _Oh, Vilka, you are losing it. Thank heavens you retired._

She wrapped her slim, almost frail-looking form tighter in her dark blue bed sheets and tried to block out the incident from the previous night. Foolish, inane fantasies. What was she doing even having them in the first place? She had not drunk anything that night. All she had done was sit for about three hours and listen to Severus Snape piece together the puzzle of the past and present. So why, in the middle of that seemingly normal conversation, did she suddenly have a -- a vision -- of them—

Airelle shuddered as the feeling came back to her. Even as a hallucination, it had felt-- but for Merlin's sake, this was _Snape_ she was talking about… Snape the nasty, ambitious, sarcastic, often mean-- but…

She punched her pillow, more out of anger with herself than anything else. The question that pounded her head like an out-of-control Bludger was WHY? Why on earth would she suddenly think like that about her best friend, with whom she could have slept in the same bed as a teenager and not cared? This was too odd. Airelle had never had a 'beau' before, not at Hogwarts and not since. Snape was the only man who'd ever gotten close enough to see most of her sides. So was _that _why she had suddenly found herself, last night, after such a long time, thinking about…? -- It did not make sense. Perhaps she was making up for lost time as a teenager?

Airelle rolled her eyes at her own strange conclusions and finally decided, _It was an odd experience, a one-time thing. Everybody has them._ Right. So, there was nothing to be scared about. Maybe that had come as a result of nervous jitters after seeing him for the first time in almost twenty years. So why did she still feel queasy the morning after?

She sighed and sat up, bare feet hanging off the bed. Snape was surely going to question her about why she'd left so suddenly. Great. She wanted to raise her wand to her own head and mutter, "Obliviate!" so that she'd forget everything that happened. But then, there was a risk of her forgetting the other things he had told her. About Crouch, Fudge, the Death Eaters, Voldemort…

Voldemort. She shook her head, as if the word were too bitter to harbor in her mind. She just could not believe he was back. And if the Dark Lord was as powerful as before… then, could history repeat itself? Could he bring back the times that had been when he prevailed? Would they all be dead by then? Even Snape? Airelle did not want to think about that. She almost wished Snape were already dead so that there was no chance of her seeing him die with her own eyes.

But no, that was selfish. Like Snape had said the night before – they were to face whatever came. But that did not mean they were to be unprepared. Airelle made up her mind to start making potions with her friend again, to practice spells, to teach students – everything needed to be protected from an attack that could come at any second…

But for now, there were closer things to worry about. Like… breakfast!

Somewhere, a bell chimed, and Airelle jumped. There was a half an hour left for the students, and since teachers needed to be there a bit early—she only had fifteen minutes.

Pointing her wand at a comb on the table, she muttered, "Reglia," and it flew to her hair as she stared into the mirror on her wall. Floating by itself, the comb ran painfully through the white strands from top to bottom and with another word, a strap tied it into a ponytail that reached to her waist. Airelle winced from the comb and put on her black headband, topped by a dark blue stone in the middle that she had worn since her own days at Hogwarts. The rest was very much routine, save for an extra warm under-robe, since it was, after all, December… and it was probably cold downstairs. The last to come after her shoes was the standard black professor's robe. She paused in front of mirror before fastening it.

_Airelle Vilka. Illusions. No, wait, _she thought. _Professor Airelle Vilka. Professor. Wow._

Airelle sighed; she was acting like a hyper schoolgirl again. Still, she smiled as she drew the robe around her. The hem of the sleeves carried a slight tinge of blue that only showed in a certain slant of light. Ravenclaw pride.

She smiled into the mirror. Today, she was going to sit at the Teachers' Table. With Dumbledore. And McGonagall. And… yes, and Snape. It would be quite an interesting day, indeed. She never thought the two of them would end up here, of all places, so close to where they had been at school, and yet so far from their student days. It was almost funny.

Airelle grinned again and tucked her wand inside her robes. Now she knew how the teachers always seemed to have everything inside their garments. Not only was there a myriad of pockets, but also, they were bewitched with an Expanding Spell, so that they would not bulge even if you had a lot of things in them. Neat.

She straightened herself, took a breath (this one was purely for histrionics) and headed outside her room, towards the Great Hall.

Most of the students were still not there when Airelle walked into the gigantic hall, but most of the teachers were. She blinked as she recognized Rubeus Hagrid, the gamekeeper, seated beside tiny Professor Flitwick, who looked about thirty times smaller than the former, at the table. Hagrid was a teacher?

Airelle smiled and walked closer, where an empty chair was looking very lonely between Professor Minerva McGonagall and Hagrid. She made to sit, but Professor Trelawney, a strange woman with large glasses, raised her hand and said in a misty voice, "No, no, dear. That is… ah, Professor Snape's chair."

Airelle bit her lip. _Oops._ She looked for another one and found it all the way at the end, right beside-- Remus Lupin??

Everyone had his or her eyes raised to her now. She somehow tore her gaze away from Lupin, who was smiling oddly, and gave them her best smile, glad to see that she recognized most of them. There was Professor Binns (why he was at the table was beyond her, since he was a ghost and could not eat anyway), Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore, Professor Sinistra, Flitwick, Hagrid (whom she wanted to hug, but kept a professional air)… the list went on.

"Welcome, Airelle," said McGonagall, rising from her chair and taking Airelle's hand into her own. "The Headmaster told us you were scheduled to arrive."

"And so I have, Headmistress McGonagall," Airelle replied.

"Minerva."

"Minerva," Airelle repeated, the name rolling off her tongue and sounding very disturbing. This used to be her Transfiguration teacher, after all. And now… they were on a first name basis.

Airelle finished greeting everyone (with Hagrid laughing heartily at having her back, and Dumbledore giving her an odd smile that made her wonder if he'd been listening in on the previous night's conversation) and made her way to the empty chair beside Lupin. She fought the urge to call him "Loopy" and just shook hands.

"I cannot believe this," she said as students began to file slowly into the Great Hall, "three former classmates, together back at Hogwarts."

Lupin smiled mildly. Airelle noticed a kind of sickly aura around him, now that she was sitting close.

"Are you feeling well?" she asked without thinking. Lupin stared at her, and then shook his head.

"Just a little under the weather, that's all."

"Oh," she replied, and did not pursue the subject any longer. Lupin did look rather ill, but she did not need any more mysteries to figure out for now.

Snape (looking pale and spiteful) arrived just as the last of the students did, and took his place next to McGonagall and Hagrid without casting his gaze on Airelle. She was not upset by this fact; Snape had always been nasty on the exterior, and gave out the perfect impression to his colleagues that there was nothing too much between himself and Airelle. Which was a good thing in any case, since Airelle did not want people to know a lot just yet about their friendship.

Everyone had settled down by now, and Dumbledore rose with a swish of robes. His voice boomed out over the Great Hall.

"Students," he said as everyone grew quiet, "if I could gain your attention for one moment before we begin breakfast… I would like to announce a new addition to our esteemed staff of Hogwarts."

Airelle slowly felt her face going red, as if she were stricken with a Blush Charm. Oh no. This was it, she had to get up, and all the students' eyes were going to turn towards her. _Nice, _she thought to herself as Dumbledore announced her name to the Great Hall. _You can fight Death Eaters, but you feel shy at standing up in front of young children._

Lupin nudged her a little and she stood up. And of course, everyone's eyes were swiveled to her. Concentrating on one face in the crowd, that of a Gryffindor girl with bushy brown hair, Airelle Vilka smiled. This was followed by some low clapping and a few whispers. Airelle sat back down, feeling like she'd been interrogated by the Misuse of Magic Department at the Ministry.

"Professor Vilka," continued Dumbledore, "shall be teaching an elective for the fifth years up. It is the highly difficult and dangerous subject of Illusions, and has not been taught at Hogwarts for fifteen years." At this, the Headmaster smiled at Airelle warmly. "We are very privileged to have her with us; please make her feel welcome. Hmm…oh, you may sign up for the Friday Illusions class starting today. That is all…now eat!"

As breakfast appeared on their plates, Airelle gazed out over the crowd. The Gryffindors… Hufflepuffs… Ravenclaws, her own house…and…

Her eyes ran over the Slytherin table, and she caught sight of a thin young boy, probably a fifth year or so, looking at her while whispering to his two burly friends. Airelle, even from where she was, got an instant chill that she had only felt long ago, in the presence of--

Malfoy. That had to be Lucius Malfoy's son, and none other. Immediately Airelle pitied the mother of this offspring of hate. Of course, this Malfoy boy was rather handsome for his age, with fine chiseled features and wisps of white-blonde hair that was not too far off from Airelle's own colour. Of course, why wouldn't he be handsome? Lucius Malfoy certainly was, Airelle had to admit as she was flung back into the past. The older Malfoy, who, Airelle knew, had recently been sacked as a school governor, had been quite good-looking. But so horrible. A hundred times worse than Snape had ever been…

These were Airelle's thoughts as her eyes broke from Malfoy and pored over her egg salad. Oh, dear, this was going to be an interesting time.

To be continued…


	2. Friday's Illusions Class

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 2 Friday's Illusions Class

The Illusions professor unrolled the worn piece of parchment that served as her class list and ran her black eyes over the words. The fifth-year Gryffindors sitting beyond her desk fidgeted in their seats, whispering softly to one another.

Airelle Vilka shifted the paper so that the winter sun would not cast a glare on it, and coughed before beginning to speak. She had been an Auror… but how would she measure up to being a teacher? Making a mental note to take some pointers from Snape (even though from what she'd heard, he wasn't exactly known to be the apex of an excellent, impartial professor), Airelle glanced out over her class.

"You are here because you have chosen to study Illusions during your free Friday period," she began in the most authoritative tone she could achieve, and true to her desire, everyone fell silent. "Since it is a highly dangerous subject, Illusions is an elective. Now… there is one thing I must insist upon in my class, and that is to _never_ misuse the spells I shall teach you. Doing so may lead to as far as expulsion, since a well-placed Illusion can harm or even kill a faint-minded person."

She paused. Half the class looked ill, the other extremely interested. A good start.

"But, you Gryffindors should have no lack of courage, hmm?" she asked, walking closer to the front row, parchment still in her hand. Her eyes bore into those of a round-faced boy who was shaking from head to toe.

"What is your name?" she asked, perhaps a little too sharply for her own taste. The boy trembled even more, and mouthed, "Neville."

"Neville," she repeated, eyes traveling down her list. "Hmm… Longbottom, I presume?"

"Y—yes," he said. Airelle perused his face, and realized something in the deathly silence.

"Mister Longbottom," she uttered, shaking her head, "who talked you into this?"

A few students snorted in the back; a look from Airelle silenced them very quickly.

"Go on," she said, more courteously, "tell me. I promise I won't hex either you or them."

Neville looked very relieved at this proclamation (as if he believed she'd actually hex a student), but did not say a word. Airelle crossed her arms.

"It is too risky to go any further before I find out whether you are fit to be in this class or not," she said. "Mind you, not taking Illusions does not mean you are a coward. Now, tell me."

Neville looked very scared, but whispered, "Dee—Dea—Dean…"

Airelle glanced up towards the back row, where a tall black boy suddenly grew horribly uncomfortable. "Dean…Dean Thomas, is it?" said Airelle loudly, and the remainder of the class did not say a word.

The boy, seeing it was no use hiding, nodded slowly. There was a long pause.

Then, Airelle smiled at him, and everyone looked surprised.

"Excellent work, five points to Gryffindor," laughed Airelle. "Students, this exemplifies true spirit. Now, Longbottom here, I can see, was not too keen to take my subject, but his friend Thomas insisted."

Everyone looked as shocked as if she'd told them to swallow bubotuber pus. Airelle continued nonchalantly, "You see, I would have known as soon as you walked into my classroom whether you were fit to study Illusions. And you all are, even you, Longbottom. So, thank your friend for his…" (she grinned) "…thoughtfulness, because otherwise you'd have missed out on a really great class."

Thomas and the boy next to him beamed as Airelle returned to sit on her desk. She had scared them enough with the harsh charade. It seemed like being herself worked better.

"I warn you, I am not your regular teacher," she said as the class buzzed excitedly. "I do not give a lot of homework--" (a soft "Oh, no" was heard from a girl in the front, among the clapping of the rest) "--but when I do, I expect it to be in top shape. Understood?"

"Yes," everyone chorused.

"Good," smiled Airelle. "Now… I think it is best, before we begin, to take that long awaited roll call…"

She spent the next few minutes calling names out. Her eyes traveled further down, until she came to a name she recognized above the rest…

"Potter," she said, and looked up at the boy in the second row. Abruptly, her mind was thrown back into the past, the night of Graduation -- James Potter, Lily Evans, smiling, laughing. Dreaming. They were now, dead, of course, and this boy-- The Boy Who Lived… was the only one left.

"You remind me of your father," she said absentmindedly, not realizing that she'd uttered those words aloud. A second passed, and Airelle found the whole class staring at her oddly. No teacher had mentioned Harry's father publicly before…

Harry's green eyes were mesmerized. "You knew him?"

Airelle breathed out through her nose, the cold morning December air whirling through the window. She walked to it and clamped it shut. "Yes," she said, more to herself than to anyone else. "I used to be a student here, myself."

Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas's best friend, leaned forward. "Really, Professor?"

Airelle did not wish to talk about her past, especially in her first class. So, she decided to twist the subject a tiny bit. "Well, now that I am your professor, I suppose it shall help you to know more about me," she said, sitting on her desk again and twirling her wand in her hand. "Yes, Finnigan, I was a student here, and graduated with honors." She paused.

A hand shot up into the air. "Miss Granger?" Airelle called, happy to match the face with the name on her list. Who said her memory was bad?

"Please, Professor," she said, "but I've heard-- I heard…" Abruptly, she fell silent, and Airelle looked at her questioningly. Of course, she knew what Hermione Granger was talking about—her Auror days. Hmm… but how did that girl know?

"You heard I was a retired Auror," said Airelle, smiling as the rest of the class listened. "Well, Miss Granger, it's true. I have fought Volde--"

Two girls in the back, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, gasped, and Airelle cut herself off. "--…You-Know-Who's forces for two decades."

Some students glanced at each other, perhaps because they could not believe Airelle was as old as her thirties. The professor continued, in a blasé fashion.

"And now, I am indeed retired. But that is enough about me…" Airelle was not feeling too good about this conversation herself, and smiled again at the students. "Now… I think it is time for the first lesson to begin." With that, she crossed again towards the window, followed by bewildered stares. Opening it, Airelle stretched and motioned for her class to rise. When they did, she pointed her wand at them and said, "Claudo." Streams of bright light encircled the room, and when they receded, everyone was wrapped in thick robes of red and gold (except Airelle, who wore blue) that protected from the cold. Airelle said, "You will need nothing but your wands." She muttered several words under her breath, and, standing next to the windowsill, commanded, "Please follow me."

And she jumped out the window.

Parvati covered her mouth with her hands, and other students rushed up front to see what was happening. Among the pushing and shoving, Ron Weasley said quietly to Harry Potter, "Is she a loony? We'll catch our death if we jump…"

"Not so, Mister Weasley," came a voice from beyond the window, and Professor Vilka's face showed in the frame. The students peered outside and gasped.

A gigantic, gleaming silver slide extended from the base of the window to the ground twenty stories below, twisting and turning among the swirls of wind. Airelle Vilka stood right at the top, on a small round platform, arms crossed and long blue robes swaying. Some of her white hair had fallen out of her headband's grip and beat back and forth on her face.

"It is only this windy up here," she yelled to them. "Once we get down, it shall only be a mild breeze."

Neville looked absolutely horrified, but most of the others stared, eyes wide in pure awe, at the slide as it rocked dangerously. Airelle, unperturbed by this, beckoned for them to come through.

"Go on, we do not have all day," she said, making another 'come-here' gesture, as if she were asking them to eat their dinner rather than go on a precariously shaking slide. Neville shrank backwards, but Dean Thomas pushed his way front.

"Blimey," he said, "are we going on _that_ thing?"

"That's right… good choice of words, Thomas," said Airelle, and Dean blushed. "You may be the first… and do not worry, if anything goes awry…" She paused, eyes glinting. "I am fairly certain I shall catch you."

"FAIRLY certain?…" mumbled poor Neville Longbottom, who now looked as pale as the December sun. Airelle Vilka smiled. "All right then, Thomas, off you go!"

Dean stepped out the window (which Airelle had expanded) and onto the teetering platform. He sat, and it all happened very fast. Professor Vilka gave him a shove, and he disappeared in a flash of red and gold. Far below, they heard a gleeful shout of "Wooooo-hoooooo!!" and a small thump. Airelle turned to the window again like a friendly nurse with a large needle and said, "Neeext…"

So it ensued, and one after another, students whirled off down the silver slide. Now, the only ones left were Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, and…

"Mister Longbottom," said Airelle mildly, staring down at the boy through the windowpane, "may I ask what you are writing so feverishly?"

"My will," replied Neville without looking up. There was a roar of laughter from the three other Gryffindors, and Ron heaved Neville up.

"No, wait, Weasley," said Airelle, feeling a tad sorry for the boy. "He shall go last, with me."

Ron obliged and went down the slide by himself, followed by Hermione, then Harry, who gave Airelle a strange look.

"Go on, Potter," said Airelle hastily, holding Neville by the sleeve as if he would run away. "Do not worry for your friend." But something told her it was not concern for Neville that swam beneath those intelligent eyes. It was curiosity… about his father…

Harry broke his gaze from Professor Vilka, and went down the slide. Now, she was left alone with the trembling Neville, who was clutching her sleeve and close to tears. Airelle did not expect this from a Gryffindor; furthermore, she did not know how to deal with tears. So, she bent her waist down in front of the boy so they'd be at eye level.

"Longbottom," she said, "Neville… you have courage inside yourself. I may be a Ravenclaw, but I can sense a true Gryffindor when I see him or her. Now… come with me, and be afraid if you want to. It is healthy to be afraid, but you must learn not to be so all the time. I was afraid too…" She paused. "I have faced the worst things you could imagine, things that would make your skin crawl." At this, she remembered something about the boy. The Longbottoms… his parents… had been great Aurors, but now, they were as good as dead, tortured by Death Eaters and held in St. Mungo's. They did not even recognize Neville, she knew, and a pang of guilt and renewed hate for Voldemort surged through her heart. Airelle drew a breath before continuing.

"I have seen some horrible things, Neville, and I have also witnessed deeds of great bravery. But few things come as close as what I see before me."

The boy looked confused. Airelle pressed on.

"It takes a lot of guts to see your parents, Neville," she said, and sudden understanding flashed through his eyes. "I have visited them once… they had been fellow Aurors… I had never gone again, because I could not stomach it. But you returned, I know. And that is one brave child, in my opinion."

Neville was silent, staring at her through glassy eyes. "So," she continued softly, "show me some more brave things you can do."

With that, Airelle released him. They stood there for a long time, before Neville moved.

"All right," he said, and followed her out on the platform. They stood, looking down, and Airelle was warmed inside. She felt like a true teacher.

"Off we go!" she yelled, and they jumped onto the slide.

"Whoooooooaaaa!!" Airelle could hear Neville yell over the wind that whooshed by them in gales. Everything was a blur, except the sparkling white ground, covered with snow, which they were careening toward. Airelle laughed happily as the feeling took her like a broom. This was the air-- not the freedom of flying, but awesome nonetheless.

The slide threw them off into the air, and they landed gently like leaves onto the snow – part of the spell. The rest of the students were brushing off the white powder from their robes, and laughing about the slide.

"Wow! That was amazing!" yelled Seamus Finnigan, high-fiving his friend Dean. "Beats using the doors, for sure!"

Airelle smiled at Neville, and looked at the rest of her class, who were by now all hurling snowballs at each other. "All right, all right! Enough!" she said, and the students stopped. "Now, who can tell me what that was? …Granger?"

"It was a very powerful Shiftus Charm," said Hermione. Airelle shook her head.

"Good try… you're very close… but no."

Hermione's jaw dropped, and several students either laughed or muttered, "Well, if Herm doesn't know… what chance do we have?"

"Actually, Miss Granger is right, somewhat," said Airelle, and Hermione smiled weakly. "It was a variation of a Shiftus Charm… except it was not a charm at all. That was an Illusion."

Hermione was the only person in the class who gasped. The rest looked confused. Airelle smiled, almost wickedly, before continuing. "It is a good thing I did not tell Miss Granger beforehand… because then most of you would have died."

Everyone grew pale. Airelle crossed her arms. "Now, can anyone except Miss Granger tell me why you would have died or been severely injured if you knew it was an Illusion?"

No one raised a hand. Hermione looked at Airelle, and the latter smiled. "All right… I understand that since this class started in the middle of the year, you obviously do not know that much about the powers of an Illusion… Miss Granger?"

Hermione's voice said over the students, "Because the slide was not real."

Neville looked ready to faint again, and the others looked either extremely puzzled or frightened.

"Excellent, five points to Gryffindor," said Airelle blandly. "You have just ridden on… nothing. A makeshift slide made of air. That is the power of an Illusion. It worked only because you _believed _the slide was there. But as soon as you knew that it was really nonexistent-- well-- look."

They all turned towards the slide. And as soon as their eyes fell on the silver, it dissolved and disappeared in a shower of sparkles. Airelle smiled at the terrified faces of the Gryffindors.

"But, Professor…" murmured Dean Thomas, "you knew that the slide wasn't real… so why didn't it disappear from under you?"

"Excellent question," replied Airelle. These students were better than she'd expected. "Why did it not disappear? First, I was the caster of the Illusion, and it is harder for it to vanish when I am around. Secondly… if it disbanded every time I cast one, then what is the point of an Illusion? The key to this is being in perfect control of your mind. You can know that it is not real, but if you force yourself to think otherwise, then it will function for as long as you have dominion over it. So-- yes, Miss Brown?"

"Professor, does that mean that we can create whatever we want?"

"Almost exactly. Although… there are a few exceptions as to what you can create, and there are certain durations for special kinds of Illusions," said Airelle, "but we shall go into that later. This is why Illusions is so dangerous, and used in the Dark Arts frequently. For example, if you create a dragon or troll, and your opponent does not recognize it as an Illusion, he or she may be severely hurt by the said Illusion and die. Example – dragon, though not real, becomes real in the person's mind and fries the person. Normally, this would be part of Defense Against the Dark Arts, but… this power can also be used for great things. I myself, as an Auror, employed it often." She looked around before continuing. "I shall teach you to distinguish Illusions from Charms and curses, which is why I'll be working closely alongside Professors Flitwick and Lupin… and—I shall teach you how to use Illusions responsibly. But I warn you once again," (and her voice grew deathly grim) "if you misuse an Illusion in any way, I shall see to it personally that you are punished heavily. Great power takes great responsibility, as you all know. Now… I believe it is time for lunch. So, please cast off your robes and go eat, then pick up your books."

"But…" protested Neville numbly, "we… cannot."

The others nodded. They had tried to take off the robes, but the red and gold raiments stuck on them as if on glue. Airelle saw this and began to laugh.

"Have you Gryffindors learned anything in your first class?" she grinned. "The robes are made to wrap you tight against the cold. Now… if I told you they were merely Illusions…"

Immediately, the class looked at their robes and they disappeared, making Airelle laugh more. "See what I mean? I'll teach you to control your Illusions so that those robes won't vanish as soon as you realize they're not real. Now… please, before you all catch colds… inside to lunch. Good day."

Friday had been a success. Airelle beamed at herself in the mirror of her bedroom. Several books and papers were strewn across her bed, and moonlight streamed through the window, landing on the dark blue covers like a searchlight. She stretched, running her hands over her nightgown, and loosened her hair from the ponytail, but not the headband. As she did so, Snape suddenly came into her mind for some odd reason, and with it came the Slytherin House, including Draco Malfoy. She had performed the same slide activity with the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Slytherins earlier in the day as well, and all reacted as planned. However, there was the disconcerting feeling she had about Draco Malfoy…

_So much like his father_, thought Airelle. Same arrogant glare, piercing eyes, and haughty demeanor. Lucius Malfoy laughed inside her head, it seemed. Blasted git. He was partially responsible for Snape's becoming a Death Eater, Airelle knew, and she despised him for it. Well, if Snape could be 'less-than-nice' to Potter, why couldn't she do the same to Malfoy's son? It was only fair, after all…

Airelle shook her head. What was she thinking? She did not wish to bring harm to a student. But deep inside, a childlike feeling inside her whined in hope that Malfoy would do something to, as Americans said, 'piss her off.' Then, and only then, she could expose Draco for the supercilious brat he was…

She shook her head again. Why were these thoughts coming to her, anyway? Was it because of Snape, in some way? She had not seen him since dinner…

A faint whisper was heard behind her door.

"Speak of the devil," murmured Airelle softly, walking closer and pulling back the latch. A fist-sized, glowing ball was hovering in front of her. She took it in her left hand, placed her right palm on the top, and said, "I am the one for whom this message is intended."

The ball sizzled and immediately liquefied into a piece of parchment. Airelle turned it over, and the message read:

PHH

Another cryptogram that she recognized instantly. P for Potions, meaning the dungeons' Potions classroom, and HH for Half an Hour. Airelle closed the door and the parchment disintegrated in her hands. She suddenly wished for an owl again. Her little Excalibur from student days had been so wonderful…

Throwing on her warm robe over the thin nightgown, and not even bothering to pull her hair back again, Airelle Vilka took her wand and headed out towards the dungeons, planning mentally to make a pit stop in the kitchen. Well, she _did_ have half an hour, after all… why waste it?

To be continued…


	3. Back in the Dungeon Room

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 3 Back in the Dungeon Room

Airelle's footsteps echoed in the dim hallways of the dungeons. She had nearly forgotten how humid and cold Hogwarts School was below ground, and shivered slightly underneath her robes. Served her right for not getting dressed properly. Nooo… instead, she had to go for a midnight snack in the kitchen. _The house-elves had been more than generous, _she thought, grinning as she munched absently on her Gadlee's Giggling Ice-Cream. Hogwarts had gotten a special shipment of it from Hogsmeade, and Airelle was delighted when a house-elf named Dobby had offered her a sample from the first batch. It had been one of her favorite treats as a student…

There was a sudden, loud crash not too far in front of her. Whipping out her wand, Airelle edged closer to a slimy wall and stepped forward. The noise turned out to be that of an unfortunate suit of armor, which had tipped over and was now uttering muffled but very eloquent obscenities at--

"Peeves," she said.

The poltergeist whirled around, and his beady eyes widened at seeing Airelle, standing there and brandishing the wand she'd hurt so many Death Eaters with.

"Why, if it isn't lil' Mizz Vilka!" he bellowed happily, as if she were a student again. Airelle stepped closer, black eyes shining.

"Oh, dear me, Peeves, what'll Mr. Filch think of you, upsetting suits of armor in the middle of the night?" she laughed. Boy, now this was an unexpected and enjoyable experience. She had, of course, anticipated Peeves to still haunt the school, but just knowing he could not get her in trouble anymore warmed her heart.

The poltergeist stuck out his tongue. "He'll be rottin' mad at you too, Prooou-fesser," he said, caricaturing the word on purpose. "Wandering 'round at night, and where are you headed, anyway… could it be that you're visiting ol' Severus Snape in his bedroom, eh?"

Airelle was revolted. Problem was, what was she revolted at? The idea of being in Snape's bedroom like that-- or the fact that Peeves said it? In any case, it was not a pleasant thing, and Airelle yelled, "Tacitus!" Peeves' thin, ghostly smirk was promptly clamped shut with a lock.

"Mmm—hm--mfff--"

"Ah, now that's a sound I've been waiting to hear for a while, ever since I learned charms that affected ghosts," grinned Airelle, and passed by Peeves, stepping over the suit of armor, which was still swearing profusely. Of course, there was no Charm that could affect a ghost, Airelle knew; what she had used on Peeves had been a mere Illusion. But Peeves did not need to know that, of course.

A serene smile had blossomed on Airelle's face by the time she reached the dark door of the Potions classroom and pushed it open.

"Lazy, pathetic Gryffindors…" Airelle had known that Snape often talked in his sleep, but she had to smile as she watched him slumped over his desk, uttering the same phrases he did when awake. He was not the kind to fall asleep so soon after sending a message. That could only mean one thing—he was dead tired.

Airelle wanted to shake him, but thought better of it. Instead, she slowly began to back out of the classroom, feet soft on the cold stone. She was almost out the door when--

"Going so soon?" came a very clear, silky voice from Snape's desk, and he raised his head, long black hair falling over his face. Airelle glared at him.

"Will you ever stop playing the mind games?"

"I just wanted to see if your instincts as an Auror had dulled any since you came here."

"Oh, dear, it's only been a week, and I'm already suspecting you're sleeping when you're not," said Airelle darkly, crossing over to Snape's desk and leaning on it. The stone gargoyle above the sink in the back of the room stared at them threateningly, as if they did not belong in the atmosphere.

Snape smirked and rose, robes sweeping remarkably, like fluid, as only he could make them. "I hope you remember the password," he said, walking to the nearby wall and running a long, thin finger slowly over the dusty, nonfunctioning fireplace.

_So that's what he wanted me to see,_ Airelle thought. She did not need to strain her memory for this one.

"Open Sesame," she said, grinning. It was an odd little ditty from Muggle stories that supposedly had the power to open pathways to secret passages. Everyone in the wizarding world knew, of course, that it worked no better than 'Abracadabra,' and that is why Snape had chosen it to bewitch as a password. After all, no wizard in his right mind would think of 'Open Sesame' as the right words.

The fireplace rumbled with years of desuetude, and slowly slid open, sending dust everywhere. Airelle and Snape stood back to let it clear, and reveal a small square passageway.

"Ladies first," said Snape cavalierly, and moved aside to let Airelle (who smirked at the comment) through. Abandoning her paranoia, she stepped inside.

"Oh… my word…"

She had no idea what sort of effect the little dungeon room would have on her. Now she knew. It was like a head-on collision with a Stunning Curse. Her eyes trailed over the walls. There was the cupboard with shelves of ingredients-- the table-- the black cauldron in the middle. Airelle looked down at her feet, and realized that she had stepped into at least an inch of dust.

"This room has not been touched ever since we—" she began, looking back at Snape, who had by now joined her.

"Correct," he said. "We are still the only ones to frequent it."

"Wow…" Airelle gazed about. There were so many memories floating here that she could almost grab them with bare hands. She had never imagined that so many years after Graduation… she'd be standing here again, with the same person. But oh, how horribly ironic… how things had changed. Both of them had been through so many things, and yet now… this room had not been altered. It merely admitted them as it did in the past, when they were just two students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And here was everything, waiting patiently for them as before-- as if it knew they were destined to return to the little room somehow--

"Does this mean," whispered Airelle, "that all the potions we had made-- are still here?"

Snape's eyes gleamed in the semi-darkness. "Yes. All fifty-- have aged wonderfully. Most of them are at their greatest potency."

Airelle's eyes widened with pleasure. "That means they can be used in the fight against Voldemort if needed!"

"Precisely," said Snape. "As long as he does not know they exist."

"Certainly," murmured Airelle, stepping further into the room and examining the empty encrusted cauldron. "So, how were your classes today?"

Snape made a sour face. "Slytherins are in top shape as usual. Gryffindors don't bother to read their assignments… Longbottom melted another cauldron, the big idiot…"

Airelle dropped a spoon into the cauldron. "Longbottom? As in Neville?"

Snape glanced at her. "Ah, so you've met him. Did he cause mayhem in your class too, or is it just Potions in which he engages in continual destruction?"

Airelle grinned. "No… well, I think he's a bit shy for a Gryffindor, but otherwise, looks like a nice boy.

Snape snorted visibly and opened the cupboard. "Nice if you mean danger-prone."

Airelle looked into space thoughtfully. Snape was not too pleasant to be around, particularly if one was a Gryffindor. So… logic stated that…

"Perhaps he's so afraid of you that he continuously makes a mess of things," she mused. Now this sounded like the Snape she knew-- bitter and so frightening that people would careen out of his way.

The Potions Master smiled oddly. "Fear is power… at least as far as students go."

"Thank you, Machiavelli," growled Airelle, and Snape began to laugh. The sound invaded her ears and swam in her mind. It was a caressing kind of laugh, so soft it was almost scary. Yes, this was definitely the laugh of the Death Eater from that long time ago in the clearing. Perhaps if Airelle had paid attention back then, she would have known who he was…

She voiced her thoughts. "That was the first time I've heard you laugh in a while."

"I don't laugh often," he replied, taking a small bottle from the shelves of the cupboard – a Dream-Well Potion – and pocketing it.

"I bet if some of the Gryffindors heard you," smiled Airelle, "they'd have heart attacks. In any case, speaking of the students… my first day went rather well."

"Did it?" asked Snape, although his voice did not convey a great interest.

"Yes," answered Airelle, suddenly remembering the dragon blood incident in their seventh year, in this very room. Only their roles were reversed. Now it was Snape who stood near the cabinet, and Airelle was next to the cauldron…

Snape caught her smile and said, "What?"

"Nothing," she lied quickly. "Just remembering… my classes today. It is so strange that both of us… are still here, after so much…"

"Well, let us hope that we remain here with our limbs intact after the Dark Lord strikes," said Snape, looking away as if he were not sure that it would really happen. Airelle stood there, not knowing what to do. Finally, resignedly, she walked closer and touched his sleeve.

"Don't worry," she murmured. She did not expect Snape to look at her, and he did not. "At least we shall not have to wonder what had happened to one another anymore. Like you said… whatever comes, we face it. And you know… I am sure we shall overcome it."

But then, she looked away, too. It had seemed like a good sentence, when they stood there, as they did years ago, in the little dungeon room. But inside, Airelle had to admit to herself… that she was not really sure of her own words.

To be continued…


	4. Butterbeer

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 4 Butterbeer

A/N: Alica belongs to herself. Same goes for Tracy.

Airelle yawned and wrapped her shawl tighter around her neck. Even with the crisp winter wind, the village of Hogsmeade looked beautiful.

_It is a shame Snape did not come, _she thought, brushing snow off a hedge playfully. She had asked the Potions professor to accompany her to Hogsmeade with the students, but he'd refused. Of course, he had not changed, and somewhere, Airelle knew she really hadn't expected him to. If anything, the time they'd spent apart only seemed to have reinforced his esoteric and introvert-type personality. In any case, her friend's absence was not detrimental to Airelle's joy as she walked through the main street of the village. It was so lovely and lively. And to think she had missed so many years of stepping on this very ground, laughing and talking. Carefree for eternity.

She sighed. The word 'carefree' did not exist for her anymore; it had ceased to occupy a place in her brain on Graduation Night. But she wished, oh, she only wished there'd be a night when the feeling would come back-- a soaring, haunting grace that would lift her sky-high without aid of the fastest broomstick. Ah, now that was pure happiness…

Amid the sea of smiling faces and student Hogwarts robes, she suddenly spotted one that looked slightly less than cheerful – Remus Lupin. Something in Airelle's head snapped on and told her to go and speak with him. So what if he'd been a Gryffindor? Snape was not here to scoff, and it was his own fault anyway. Grinning at her own decidedly odd logic, Airelle waded through the crowd, and found herself standing in front of The Three Broomsticks, where the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor was musing over a piece of parchment.

"Hello, err… Remus," she said hesitantly, not knowing how to address him properly. Lupin, after all, had been one of James Potter's best friends, and she was so used to calling him by his last name. They had not talked together since breakfast nearly a week ago, and Airelle was not certain how he'd treat her outside the walls of the school. Perhaps, did he still harbor resentment towards her because of Snape?

"Ah, Airelle," he said mildly, coughing and (Airelle noticed) folding the parchment. "How are you finding your first week?"

"Fine, great," she replied, leaning on the door of the Three Broomsticks dejectedly and staring into space. "The students are… fantastic. Your Gryffindors, I must say…" She paused. "…are better than I expected."

Lupin was smiling oddly now. "Well, they do tend to show their talents unexpectedly."

Airelle shrugged. "Yes, of course, all students do… but… oh, perhaps it is just because I am not used to this." She tried to laugh. "I mean, when you're an Auror and worry about Death Eaters on every corner, you hardly think about--"

"Is there something bothering you?" he asked, and the question was so unexpected that Airelle stared at him. Of course, something was bothering her. Snape, for one. Voldemort. Her past, present, and --though she tried not to think about it-- her future…

"No, nothing bothers me," she replied, pushing some unruly white hair behind her ears. "Why do you ask?"

Lupin's eyes seemed to twinkle in a way that reminded her, disturbingly, of Dumbledore. "Well, if you need anything to talk about, the entire staff, I am sure, shall be ready to help."

_What are you doing, Lupin?_ she thought. _Why are you being so nice to me? Do you feel sorry for me because of the things I've seen? The flashbacks I get?_

"Of course," Airelle answered, crossing her arms. "I am very lucky to have survived my work and come here for a more, err… stable existence."

Lupin smiled again, as if he wanted to continue on the subject, but instead said, "I understand Professor Flitwick and I shall be joining you for a combined session next week on the differences between Illusions, Charms, and Curses?"

Airelle had forgotten about that. Great, that was all she needed-- to have Flitwick giggling, Lupin smiling like he knew something she did not, and Snape narrowing his dark eyes at her closeness with the Gryffindors in between classes. _Maybe life in the Ministry wasn't so bad compared to this_, she thought with a mental laugh. She'd almost forgotten, in the hectic time away from Hogwarts, just how exhausting school could be.

She was about to say something else to Lupin, (probably a farewell), but her words were prevented by a sudden opening of the door she was leaning on, and she nearly fell over. Catching herself, Airelle stared at the two figures who had appeared in the doorway, leaning on each other. They were both fourth-year Hogwarts students; one was extremely tall, the other short, and the result looked very comical, indeed.

"Oops -- sorry, Profess'r-- _hic!_ -- didn' see you there," said the tall one, waving lazily, bangs fluttering on her forehead. Her companion, a black-haired Asian girl, smiled at Airelle, then at her friend, and then shook her head knowingly.

"Miss Patts," said Lupin in a voice that was not harsh at all, "how many butterbeers did Miss Tylon here have?"

The tall girl replied before her friend could. "Only seven, Profess'r Loooopin --_hic!_-- or was it sev'nteen? Can't recall…"

Airelle tried to keep a straight face, and failed miserably. It had only been a week, and she already knew Tracy Patts and Alica Tylon pretty well. Protégés to Fred and George Weasley in their pranks, the two Ravenclaws were infamous for their skill in outrunning the bad-tempered Filch and for their hours spent in detention. Quite good students, actually, but horribly prone to mischief. For an instant, Airelle smiled, wondering what chaos would occur if those two actually found themselves in the tiny room behind the fireplace in the Potions classroom. After all, one of the best things (abhorred members of the staff had told Airelle) that Tracy and Alica were known for was their unrivaled proficiency in Love Potions and the mayhem they caused. On a memorable occasion in their second year, Airelle knew, the two conspired to make Professor Snape fall in love with one of Professor Sprout's mandrakes. All she could say… thank heavens Snape could recognize Love Potions on smell.

"Back inside," said Airelle, motioning with her hands, "before Professor McGonagall sees you. Both of you-- For shame! Five points from Ravenclaw!" She felt rather bad for doing that, especially since the girls were in her own house… but how would she keep a 'teacher-face' in front of Lupin if she caught a student drunk on butterbeers and did not do anything about it?

"But-- _hic!_" said Alica, "it was a bet!"

"Bet or not," replied Airelle harshly, "you are not going back to Hogwarts by yourself, that is certain. Now, let us go inside, and we can sit the whole evening there… or at least until you feel well enough to walk without using Miss Patts as a cane."

"I can walk," said Alica, and let go. Airelle suddenly had a strange urge to yell 'Timber!'

"See?" said Alica, after her friend had caught her once again. "I am perfectly-- _hic!_-- fine."

"Right," answered Airelle, and let the pair trudge back into The Three Broomsticks ahead of her. _Perhaps I'm up for a butterbeer myself, _she thought, grinning, and turned back to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

"Coming, Remus?" She immediately began to regret her words. Lupin, no doubt, still remembered their dislike of each other back in their student years…

Lupin looked at her, and his lips twitched strangely. "Very well," he said, and followed her inside.

"Ah, that hits the spot, doesn't it?" asked Madame Rosmerta from behind the bar/counter of The Three Broomsticks. Airelle nodded and saluted the high-heeled witch with the remnants of her butterbeer. Instinct told the Illusions professor that right behind her, Alica Tylon was probably watching the mug like a ravenous beast. _I have to talk to Rosmerta about those two, _she thought, smiling, and let her eyes roam over the room. Madam Hooch was sitting not far from them, talking to a wizard and from time to time, casting an odd look at the two Ravenclaws beside Airelle and Lupin. Farther to the left were some students (who'd be acting much more reserved if it had been McGonagall in Airelle's place), a few goblins, some jolly ghosts who did not let their lack of innards stop them from drinking…

Airelle smiled again. At least no one was looking at her as if she'd just dropped out of the sky. Thank heavens no one (save for Lupin, and Rosmerta, to some extent) knew about her friendship with Snape, or just how far her Auror assignments had taken her. Airelle liked this sort of 'anonymity.' Now she could figure out why Snape never talked to people about his past, either, even if he did not need to mention the Death Eater days.

"Oi, can I get 'nother butterbeer over 'ere?" hiccupped a voice from the back, and Airelle rolled her eyes good-naturedly. She couldn't wait to see half the students with 'hangovers' on Monday morning--

The door burst open, sending a cold gust of wind at the faces of those in its path, including Airelle. The shock was so sudden that every paranoid nerve in her body jumped, and before the door had even banged off the wall, Airelle was up, wand in attack mode. Surely, Voldemort would not attempt something as bluntly idiotic as striking full out in the midst of a village full of experienced wizards. Right?

Airelle did not recognize the figure in the doorway; but, apparently, others did, and to the former Auror's great surprise, returned quickly to their conversations, their gazes avoiding the door. Airelle, though, was spotted before she (or Lupin, who had been on his feet as well) could sit back down.

"Ah," said the man in the doorway ecstatically, "just the woman I wanted to see! What skill, what grace, such movement-- could you do that again?"

Airelle glanced at Lupin as the man came nearer. Surprisingly, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor looked like he was about to have a fit of laughter, and it seemed like Alica Tylon and Tracy Patts desperately wished to sink through the floor on the spot.

"Err…" said Airelle, for lack of better words, as the man shook her hand.

"Gilderoy Lockhart," he beamed, exposing teeth so blindingly white they could have given an ogre a headache. "Daily Prophet reporter, Number One of _Witch Weekly_'s Ten Most Charming Media Wizards, and former Hogwarts professor." He continued to shake her hand vigorously, paying no attention to either Lupin or the two girls (who looked extremely grateful).

"Err…" said Airelle again, putting away her wand with one hand and trying to disengage Lockhart's grip with the other. "How do you do?"

"We are very sad -- _hic!_-- I mean glad -- to see you again, Mr. Lockhart," said Alica, fighting with Tracy over yet another hot mug of butterbeer.

"Just fabulous, as always," said Lockhart to Airelle as if Alica had not existed. "So, I have heard so much about you, and as one of the Daily Prophet's greatest reporters--" (_Gee, aren't we modest? _thought Airelle) "—I would just be delighted to print an interview with one of the Ministry's greatest former Aurors!"

A few customers had turned their heads at that last loudly spoken comment, and Airelle was beginning to not like this Lockhart character very much. He, however, did not seem to take notice of Airelle's discomfort, but smoothed his blonde locks far back so she got a full view of the darling of _Witch Weekly_.

"This is glorious," said Lockhart dramatically, flopping himself into a seat opposite hers, which happened to be Tracy's (she'd gotten up to order Double Fudge Juice). The girl was just returning, and stared at the reporter murderously.

"I beg your pardon--"

"Go bother someone else, child, can't you see I'm having an important conversation?" replied Lockhart airily, not taking his blue eyes off Airelle, as if he was afraid she'd run as soon as he looked away. In truth, if Airelle could've run fast enough, she'd have done it a long time ago.

"So, what was I saying before I was so rudely interrupted?" smiled Lockhart. "Ah, yes… the interview. Shall we start from the beginning, or skip right to the part when you wished to become an Auror, so that this day would come and you'd have a chance to become famous just like I am?"

Lupin snorted into his high collar. Alica muttered something softly to the extent of, "The loony found his true calling," Tracy mumbled, "This bloke's worse than Rita Skeeter," and Airelle… well, Airelle just stared.

"Err…"

"To the beginning, then," supplied Lockhart, oblivious to the reaction of Airelle's companions. "Now, when and why did you first want to become an Auror? Was it because you felt inadequate as a witch, being Muggle-born? Or was it because you bravely wanted to battle You-Know-Who's forces? Come, you can tell me anything."

"I liked the health benefits," said Airelle, finally. Lockhart gasped and replied cheerfully, "Yes, benefits, hmm? Would you mind telling me how being an Auror has benefited you?" Either he was completely unable to detect sarcasm, or he'd only heard the word 'benefits' from that sentence.

When Airelle did not respond, the reporter scribbled something on a floating parchment and looked up. "Well, never-mind, I am sure it would be boring to the readers. So, how are you finding life as a Hogwarts professor? I was there, too, don't you know, and from what I've heard, I daresay I was the most interesting Defense Against the Dark Arts professor they'd ever staffed!"

_Interesting, indeed, _thought Airelle, smiling. _This bloke could not defend himself against a daffodil._

Gilderoy Lockhart, apparently mistaking her smile as being directed towards him, winked and scribbled something else. "Yes, I am sure you do not doubt my skill, as your smile reveals-- thought I wouldn't notice, did you?" Another wink. "It is unfortunate that I had to leave after surviving a dreadful accident." He sighed heroically. "But, thanks to the good folk at Memory Lane, I am fixed and good as new, and now I can reach even more people to tell them my-- I mean your-- wonderful stories!"

Airelle, by this point had made up her mind to hurt the people at Memory Lane severely.

"So," continued Lockhart, whipping out a looking-glass and straightening the collar of his horrid pastel-yellow robes, "this is not about me, but you, the gracious consumer of the great wizard newspaper. And I intend--" (he sipped some butterbeer absently from Lupin's mug) "--to make your time worthwhile." Yet another mischievous blue-eyed wink flew at Airelle. She mouthed 'help' to Lupin, but he shrugged, and she did not blame him for being hesitant to get involved. Looks like she'd have to take care of this one herself. Gosh… she knew how to deal with Dark wizards, but nosy, self-obsessed reporters-- that was a whole new shindig…

"Excuse me," said an icy voice right behind Lockhart. "But I must have a word with Professor Vilka."

To be continued…


	5. A Lack of Shining Armor

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 5 A Lack of Shining Armor

Airelle's jaw gaped open. Snape was standing directly behind the reporter, fathomless black eyes glinting and a sneer playing on his thin lips.

Lupin's countenance suddenly grew neutral, and Alica and Tracy buried their faces behind their respective mugs of Double Fudge Juice. If Airelle hadn't been so surprised, she would have smiled at the girls' apparent discomfort around Snape after that mandrake incident…

Lockhart, who by now had turned around, did not change his saccharine expression. "Ah, Professor-- Snape, was it?" He flashed a grin at the Potions Master, who looked disgusted, and turned back towards Airelle, floating parchment and all. "Now, Miss Vilka," (another wink) "--where were we again?"

_I was just about to stuff your bloated head in a matchbox, _thought Airelle sourly, relishing at the prospect. She desperately hoped that Snape had some shred of human sympathy left in him…

Snape's mouth twisted. "Professor Vilka, if you will--"

"Gladly," Airelle beamed, releasing the tension in her stomach and rising off her chair so fast she nearly knocked it backwards. She did not dare look at what anyone else save Lockhart and Snape was doing, for fear of turning beet red. "Excuse me, I must go. Hogwarts business," she said curtly to Lockhart, and brushed past him towards the door. The reporter, however, seized her sleeve. Thankfully, no one in The Three Broomsticks except for Airelle's companions had fallen silent or listened to the conversation.

"But I'm not finished!" protested Lockhart.

Airelle wanted to laugh in his face. "Well, that's too bad for you, isn't it? Good night, Mr. Lockhart."

She disengaged Lockhart's hand, and they swept out the doorway. Two seconds later, the reporter, flushed, ran out after them and yelled indignantly, "You cannot do this to me… I have privilege of interview, Mr. Snape!"

The Potions professor stopped abruptly, and so did Airelle. _Oh, dear, _she thought as Snape turned around, slowly, long black robes making an arch in the snow of the main street. The crowds kept passing by, looking as merry as if it had been Christmas already.

"Miss Vilka," Lockhart kept saying, face contorted, "you are terribly misguided. I am sure you'd rather spend the evening in pleasant conversation with me than that—"

Snape stepped closer. Airelle only saw his profile, but she could feel the power surging from him in all directions, power he'd acquired during his Death Eater years. _Uh-oh_, she thought…

The Potions Master now stood a few feet from the reporter, and his black eyes echoed the smirk that had lifted one corner of his mouth. "Careful, Gilderoy," he said in a remarkable voice, the one he used only when miffed by something. Incredibly soft as a whole, but every word dangerously sharp as a needle. "Hogsmeade is dangerous at night. Who knows, there may be dozens of flowers at every corner. They might mistake you for one of them and try to pollinate those pastels…"

Airelle covered up her laughter with an unconvincing cough. Lockhart sniffed and walked backwards. Snape, apparently not wishing to bother himself, backed away. Airelle started walking, and as soon as Snape had joined her, Lockhart turned away and began to scribble furiously on his parchment.

"Ignore him," said Snape sharply as Airelle looked back. "Brainless, conceited imbecile."

"But—isn't it a little dangerous-- I mean, look what that Skeeter woman had written--"

Snape kept looking forward. "I'll have his head on a platter if he speaks a word about me. Or you," he added as Airelle glanced at him reproachfully.

"I have to give you, my 'knight without shining armor,' applause," she said as they walked towards the Shrieking Shack under the darkening sky, "for rescuing me from Lockhart. The lunatic was going on about--"

"How he was a professor?" Snape laughed bitterly. "They'd hire any moron or hypocrite, just not me."

Airelle did not know what to answer to that, so she asked, "By the way, how and why did you suddenly appear out of thin air in Hogsmeade?"

"What were you doing with Lupin?" he asked, obviously avoiding her question.

"Since when do you monitor whom I speak with?" she snapped. "So what if he and Potter were friends? We are adults, and colleagues now, Snape; give it up."

"You don't understand," muttered Snape, stopping and turning towards her. "It is for your own well-being."

"Thank you, but I'm a former Auror, remember? I can take care of my own safety."

His black eyes narrowed dangerously. "The last time I checked, being in the company of a werewolf the night before a full moon is not exactly your standard safety measure."

Airelle stepped back. So that was why she had had the constant notion that the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was ill. "Remus Lupin… is a werewolf??"

Snape's nod was barely visible. "Dumbledore had the gall to rehire him, too, after he quit two years ago. Seemed to think Lupin was needed to help us against Voldemort." He snorted. "The man's a boiling cauldron waiting to explode. I had to make a potion to help him keep his sanity the whole time he was at Hogwarts… you think that is safe? So, I let his identity slip at one point in the staff room."

Airelle glared at him. "That was not nice."

"I suppose he was better, though, than the next one," Snape said, shuddering. "A Death Eater in the form of Alastor Moody, of all people!"

Airelle sighed. Even though Alastor Moody was a fellow Auror, and widely respected in his day, he still gave her the chills. It seemed like his magical eye could look right into her soul as if it were transparent, and read every feeling she had ever harbored-- all the times when she, still young, often found herself regretting she had not joined Voldemort along with Snape, so that she would not lose him--

A shiver ran down her spine, and she looked away, towards the Shrieking Shack. It was said to be the most haunted place around, and the noises emanating from it, Airelle had heard, seemed to certainly justify it. Now, it was silent, like an abandoned shell. Still, few came near it even two years later, afraid of the ghastly atmosphere the boarded-up windows conveyed. _Probably just an abandoned old house for people to play practical jokes, _Airelle thought.

She looked at Snape, whose eyes were also on the Shrieking Shack, only they were unreadable. Doubtlessly, Airelle concluded, something had happened there that Snape did not wish to tell her about--

"Ah, I could forgive you anything," she mumbled softly, watching barren trees sway back and forth in the December air. It was true, basically. Snape could keep secrets from her, like he was doing now, and she did not feel a pang of distaste. Perhaps that was wrong-- to trust him again, but she admired and respected him. If he wished to tell her, then he would. At the least, she hoped he had learned from the previous mistakes.

"As could I," he said, still staring at the old house. "Although… there is one thing that I could never forgive you for."

She faced him, curious. "Which is?"

"If you joined Voldemort," he said quietly. "I do not have the power of forgiveness that you do. I would not be able to do what you had done."

"Who said I forgave you for becoming a Death Eater?" she asked with a smile completely devoid of humor. Snape just smiled back and looked away.

In truth, Airelle did not know if she had given Snape her exculpation. So many strange thoughts lately… the second time they had met again, as teachers in Hogwarts… the way she felt standing in the dungeon room… the way she had stopped blaming her friend for what had happened. But had she forgiven him, truly? Ah, now that was the ten-million-Galleon question. And the answer lurked in her soul, somewhere. The problem was that she did not know how to go about finding it.

To be continued…


	6. Of Spice and Sultriness

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 6 Of Spice and Sultriness

It was warm in the dungeons. Unusually warm. Airelle sniffed, and realized that the air was humid and heavy with spice. The last time she had smelled something like that was in a Romance Shop in Diagon Alley. And it was coming, she suddenly discovered, from the Potions classroom. Another whiff told her that the spice was Romanian, used to accent a Love Potion of the highest degree in the books.

_Tracy and Alica had better not be up to their tricks again,_ thought the Illusions professor, and pushed open the door, intending to find the two Ravenclaw pranksters. Instead, however, after the huge cloud of smoke had cleared from her vision and floated out the door, a giant black cauldron gleamed at her from the center of the classroom. She recognized it immediately -- the one from her and Snape's room behind the fireplace. Someone had heaved it out here. But for what purpose?

She stepped closer and peered in.

The cauldron was still smoking, but empty. Airelle looked up, worry tinged in her eyes.

"What the--"

She did not feel the presence of the figure behind her until it was too late. And that was bad enough in itself, since her inner Auror alarms had not gone off. She did not slack her reserve, ever--

The person-- the man, to be exact-- was taller than Airelle, but short enough that her form molded against his perfectly. She was facing away from him, but she didn't have to look anyway. There was only one person who could make her let a notch of her guard down. Only one.

"I should have known," she said, as long, slender fingers inched their way to her suddenly fragile hip bones and pressed her deeper in, towards the form behind her.

"My, my, Miss Vilka," said a silky, steady voice at the base of her neck, "what _are _we doing in the dungeons at such _ungodly_ hours?" Long ebony-black hair swept her shoulder as the voice moved up towards her ear, close enough for her to feel the heat of breath.

Unwittingly, Airelle's mouth rose in a grin, and her eyes narrowed. Severus Snape definitely knew how to make an entrance. Only... she had to fight the terrible feeling of wanting to, for lack of a better word, 'nestle' against him. Consequently, something scared her. It did not feel right, and Airelle tried to pull away. But, apparently, he'd anticipated such a move, because he used her energy to twist her one hundred and eighty degrees and pull her backwards so she nearly crashed head-on into his body.

"Are you certain you are in such a hurry?" asked Snape, voice growing progressively softer in pitch. Airelle's cheeks burned, and she did not want to raise her gaze to his. But... didn't he deserve the truth? Finally, she realized that she was more afraid of telling the truth to herself than to him. And what _was _the truth anyway? She glared defiantly at his chest. Not his eyes.

"No, I'm not in a hurry at all," she said flatly. But somehow, it did not feel like it should have. She had not felt a weight being lifted from her shoulders, or anything of that nature. She had only implied part of the truth-- right?

"Good," murmured the Potions Master, lifting one hand and tilting her chin up, and Airelle was forced to look into his eyes. Her lips parted... but not for a lengthy kiss as she'd naturally expected. It was a pure, wide 'o' of horror.

His eyes were not the usual black. They were a vivid, poisonous green that had swallowed the whites around the pupils and glowed malevolently. And as Airelle looked at their color, high-pitched words, of a voice that did not belong to him, escaped from Snape's lips as they brushed her forehead gently: "Avada Keda--"

Airelle sat up sharply in the reclining chair, her gasp a painful intake of chilly air, the cold sweat still damp on her forehead. Her chest heaved, and her black eyes were open wide as if they'd been stuck on Magic Glue in that position.

"Damn!" she swore aloud, running a hand over her face, which was even paler than usual. Would the nightmares ever stop? And they'd taken a turn for the worse - now Snape was in them...

Her gaze fell on the candle on the table. It had melted to half its size, thick wax dripping lazily down its stem.

Airelle cursed again. Not only had she succumbed to a nightmare again, but she had overslept, and was late for her appointment--

The Illusions Professor, deciding to put the surge of odd thoughts from her mind for now, grabbed her robe and wand, and ran out of the bedroom, mahogany door slamming behind her.

To be continued...


	7. The First Gryffindor

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 7 The First Gryffindor

A/N: All subsequent Quidditch terms (except for Direct Drop) and rules are gratefully taken from Quidditch Through The Ages by Kennilworthy Whisp.

The Illusions professor's feet emitted a dull crunch on the snow as she walked quickly towards the Quidditch field. The sky was already darkening above; she was late by at least an hour. Not enough bad words were in Airelle's mind to hurl at herself; otherwise, she'd have done it. What kind of a person was she? What sort of supposed example and role model-- if she was being ravaged by silly idiotic dreams and was then ruining her personal life by them?

_Idiot, idiot, _she thought again. _Try and take a little afternoon nap and look what happens. Not only does Voldemort appear in your nightmares, but now he's taking on… forms… Uuuugggghhh…._

Airelle pushed her ponytail back from her face violently and stalked past the Professors' broom shed. It took her a minute to realize she had to double back. With an uncharacteristic growl, the former Auror whirled on her heel and retraced her steps, blue scarf trailing behind her like an angry snake.

The door opened with some difficulty because of the snow, but otherwise Airelle had no problem in finding her Nimbus 2001, tied magically to a post in the corner amid several others. She released the broom from its spell and it floated gently in front of her. A degree of comfort seeped through her veins; her Nimbus, it seemed, was the only part of her life not affected by Hogwarts and the things that went on there. She mounted it -- never sideways, of course -- and soared out the door, feeling happy for the first time since her classes the previous day.

The Quidditch field was empty; she had half expected it to be. The seats above the stadium gleamed serenely in the semi-darkness. Airelle, circling quietly above, realized just how many memories flew here, as much as in every part of Hogwarts…

_"Aaaaand… James Potter outmaneuvers the hapless Slytherin seeker with an impeccable Wronski Feint! Smooth move to help Sirius Black, who whizzes -- isn't that a lovely broom-- past the distracted Beater and gets in ten more points for Gryffindor! Meanwhile, Gryffindor keeper Marks does a perfect Starfish and Stick move to block Chaser Lucius Malfoy-- Malfoy is angry and performs a Reverse Pass to Goeding—but wait, the Quaffle is seized by Chaser Lupin-- oh this is too good-- Malfoy tries to… blatch Lupin!! --foul!! Penalty awarded to Gryffindor!"_

_ A roar rose up from the stadium, and banners of red and gold shone magnificently in the spring sun. Cheers erupted from one side, and boos from the Slytherin end of the crowd could not drown them out._

_ "What are you doing here, Snape?" asked Peter Pettigrew loudly from the back row as the thin Slytherin boy made his way towards the far side of the field. "Come to watch your pals lose miserably?" Snape did not even look at him, and kept his head high._

_ "Shut up, Pettigrew," snapped Airelle, who had suddenly appeared from the crowd and waved to Snape, her neutral black robes fluttering gently in the wind. _

_"You wouldn't be so brave if your friends weren't there to protect your paltry hide," said Snape, eyes shining malevolently._

_"That so?" sneered Peter, turning to Airelle. "Cheering for Slytherin, are you now, Vilka? I thought Ravenclaws had better judgment than that."_

_ "Funny," said Airelle. "I thought Gryffindors had more brains than that. I guess we were both wrong."_

_ And they walked off._

Airelle sighed. Where were all these people now? James Potter was dead, Lupin a werewolf, Black a convict on the run, and all that was left of Pettigrew was a finger. He had gotten Order of Merlin, First Class, for his heroic death in the capture of Sirius Black. Somehow, Airelle could not fit together how he deserved it. Well, perhaps he had been brave on the inside; maybe she, as a non-Gryffindor, could not see it. But then again, she had seen it in Neville, and so many others. Peter Pettigrew had never struck her as too brave--

A figure stirring on the side of the field caught her attention, and Airelle swooped down. She had played Chaser on her Ravenclaw team back in her Hogwarts days, and was glad to see that she had not forgotten how to do a Direct Drop. Even if her Auror skill had not reinforced her broom riding, Airelle doubted she would've ever forgotten the feel of a broom in the game of wizards.

"I thought you'd gone already," she said, dismounting her broom and walking closer. Should she apologize for being late…? Yeah.

Neville Longbottom shifted around in the snow and said, "Hullo, Professor."

"Forgive me for not meeting you earlier, I was--"

A smile lit up his rotund cheeks. "It is fine, I'm sure you had a reason."

Airelle smiled back. "Very well. But I hope you didn't go to Hogsmeade today just because of this."

He sighed. "No, no, I just did not feel like going."

"Oh… all right then. So, shall we begin?" she asked in a friendly tone (even though she did not believe the student's previous comment).

"I suppose so…"

So what was Airelle Vilka doing here? The answer lay within something that had happened more than a week previously…

_ A knock sounded on her door, and a timid voice called from beyond. "Professor Vilka?"_

Airelle looked up from her papers. "Yes?" she asked. "Enter."

_ It opened, and in walked Neville. He was carrying a cauldron in his hand, books inside, and looked very uncomfortable. Airelle had just finished grading his report for Illusions, and quickly turned it over._

_ "Neville," she said, smiling. "You were just here for class… did you forget something again?"_

_ "No, Professor," he mumbled, wringing his hands._

_ "Then what's wrong?"_

_ "I--umm…"_

_ "Go on," she said. "I'm not going to bite if you say something wrong."_

_ "Err… I was wondering…"_

_ "Is this going to take a while?" she asked. Neville looked terrified._

_ "No, Professor-- I'm sorry to bother you-- I'll come back later, if you wish--"_

_ "Oh, Longbottom," she laughed, "take a seat, I'm not angry."_

_ He had almost been out the door, but now turned around. "You're not?"_

_ "The only time I'll probably grow angry with a student is when he or she tries to hex me," smiled Airelle, motioning Neville to an empty chair next to her desk. "So, what's troubling you?" She had a vague idea it would be Potions. Snape did not like Neville too much, and, according to what she'd heard, he was Neville's worst fear. Somehow, Airelle did not have any trouble fathoming how anyone could be scared of her best friend. Just because he did not cause revulsion or fear in her, it did not mean everyone else felt the same way. And Snape was not a pleasant person by nature, to be sure._

_ Longbottom sat down, and absentmindedly took a book from his cauldron, placing it on the desk._

_ "Neville, put the book down, you aren't in class, remember?" she laughed again._

_ "Oh, no, sorry--" He made to put it away, but the cover caught Airelle's eye._

_ "What's this?" she asked, craning her neck. "Quidditch Through the Ages? So that's what you came to talk to me about, isn't it?"_

_ He nodded slowly. "Please, Professor, I know you'll think me inane, but I've never been as good as… my friends on a broom, and I just wish… Well, you seem to understand--" (suddenly Airelle remembered the way he'd conceded to go on the Illusions slide a week earlier) "-- and I was hoping--"_

_ He paused. Airelle kept looking at him. She wanted him to say the words himself. "Go on."_

_ "Ah, it is silly anyway…"_

_ "Just say it."_

_ "I know that, as a former Auror, you must be a good broom-rider. So, I thought you could maybe help me to fly better."_

_ "Was that so hard, Longbottom?" grinned Airelle. Neville looked up, hopeful._

_ "Well, I am set to go to Hogsmeade tomorrow," said Airelle, drumming her fingers on the desk, "but the Saturday after, I'll be glad to help you."_

_ "Really?"_

_ "Yes, Longbottom, really," she said. "It shall be our little secret. So, six o'clock, next Saturday, be on the Quidditch field."_

_ "Professor, are you sure that-- I mean, you haven't seen me fly-- I'm not really any good--" he began, but Airelle lifted a hand._

_ "Neville, if you can overcome fear of one thing and be good at it, then you may do the same with others," she said, picking up a facedown paper from her desk. "Now," she continued, handing him the Illusions report, "I shall see you next Friday in class, and next Saturday for practice."_

_ Neville beamed. "Yes, Professor," he said, and walked out the door, leaving Airelle wondering when he'd have the courage to unfold the report and discover the A that was written on top in sparkling blue ink._

"All right, Neville, now do a turn sideways and head back towards me!" Airelle shouted over the wind that had picked up over the two hours they had been there. "And mind the current!"

The Gryffindor fifth-year made an attempt (a good one, in Airelle's opinion) to shift direction, but failed as a wind gust picked him up and threw the nose of his broom downwards, sending him careening towards the ground. Airelle was prepared for this and sent a Cushion Charm to bounce him upwards. It took powerful magic to interfere with a broom; thank heaven Airelle had it.

"Silly," she said, helping Neville fly up again, "you have to learn to navigate the wind. Don't fight it, and it'll help you. Just watch." She made her Nimbus soar up and performed a Double Eight Loop, a high-speed Keeper move, around the three goal posts on one side of the field, then raced on her broom five hundred feet to the opposite end, zigzagging back and forth as if she were part of a Woollongong Shimmy. Airelle then returned to Neville, who was floating in the air and staring at her in amazement.

"I used to be a Chaser for the Ravenclaws years ago," she explained, hovering some feet above him. "And, I've perfected my abilities since I became an Auror. But you don't need to be an Auror to fly like a pro… now, go on, try it again-- and this time, remember what I said."

Longbottom nodded and pursed his lips. He went away from Airelle – a bad start, the tail of his broom was shaking-- but he kept going; the wind roared as he rose higher and the Illusions professor watched him, wand ready-- and she thought the boy had faltered as a rush of air crashed into him-- he was surely going to fall again--

But then, in a remarkable second, Neville twisted his broom and used the current to rise up and turn. Another gust picked him up like a wave would a surfer, and he whooshed across the field, finally halting a foot or so away from Airelle.

Both looked stunned for a second, and then Airelle began to clap so hard she nearly fell off her Nimbus.

"Did you see that, Professor?" he beamed as their brooms went closer to the ground. "I cannot believe-- did I just do that?"

"You sure did, Neville," she said. "You see? If you can't control a broom by yourself that well, let the wind be your ride. And soon, you will learn to manipulate it just as the best fliers do. Then, you'll have the best of both worlds!"

They jumped off the brooms into the snow. The wind had wiped away the footprints they'd made two hours ago, and the Quidditch field looked very wholesome and untouched.

"Professor," asked Neville, his face red, "do you think one day I could fly as well as--"

"As well as any of the people on the Gryffindor team," finished Airelle for him. A glad look passed through Neville's eyes. Was he perhaps thinking of playing Quidditch?

"So, are we practicing next Saturday?" she asked.

Neville stopped in his tracks. "You mean-- again?"

"One lesson isn't going to teach you anything, Longbottom," said Airelle. "I _hope _you know that."

Neville smiled. "All right then."

"Good," replied Airelle. "Before breakfast then, a week from now."

"I will," said Neville. "Thank you--"

"It is my job to help students, after all," she answered as they headed off in different directions. "Farewell, Longbottom."

"Good night, Professor!" And he walked away towards the castle, tattered broom dragging behind him, while Airelle, resolving to get a good rest away from her nightmare-prone room at Hogwarts, headed towards Rubeus Hagrid's little cabin on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Hopefully, Hagrid could still make that good tea she'd liked as a student…

To be continued…


	8. The Second Gryffindor

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 8 The Second Gryffindor

The beckoning trees of the Forbidden Forest called to Airelle as she knocked on Hagrid's door. It had been so long since she had entered the woods with Snape back in her student years, that now it seemed almost creepy. But inviting nonetheless. Just like Snape himself…

_All right, where the heck did that come from?_ she thought, shaking her head as if she were expecting it to rattle. _How many times, Vilka? You have got to cut the doses of Gadlee's Giggling Ice-Cream. The warning spell says "Liable to make one hyper," but do you listen? Oh, no…_

A light streamed from the crack under the door. "Who is it?" a gruff voice called out.

"It's me, Hagrid," she said. Immediately, the door handle rattled and a bright yellow light washed over her face, causing her to squint.

"Why, if it isn' Airelle Vilka 'erself!" boomed the half-giant from the doorway, and before the Illusions professor had time to emit a single word, she was choking in a bone-crushing hug.

"I'm--eeeeehhh--happy to see you too," she gasped, trying to get her feet down to the floor again.

"Yer cold," said Hagrid, "come on, get 'nside an' warm up." Airelle, grateful to be released, followed him into the little cabin. It still looked the same as it had been years ago. Hagrid was one of the few people who had been her friend even though she was friends with Snape. And back in those days, he'd always invite her in for tea, and those horrid rock cakes that she'd always politely refused--

"So, how's it feel to be back at 'ogwarts?" asked Hagrid heartily, closing the door, but not locking it. "Still can' believe yer here after all these years! Thought you'd want to leave, after yer argument with Snape—"

Airelle sighed. She had told Hagrid that Snape had left after Graduation. But she had never said why. He'd just assumed they'd had an argument. Argument, indeed…

"But we're all back together now," she laughed, taking a seat at the same place at the table she had always occupied. "You, myself, and even Snape. All teachers now."

"Yeh, isn' that a riot?" grinned Hagrid from under his bushy beard. "So you two are friends agin?"

Airelle looked away. "You could say that, yes."

"All righ' then, nothin' to worry about," said Hagrid, setting a pot of tea on the fire. He had not even asked if she wanted it; he just knew. "Say, Airelle, have you decided what group you'll be lookin' after fer the ball?"

She looked up. "…Ball?"

Hagrid made a 'you're-being-forgetful-again' face at her. "Yeh… you know, the Yule Ball?"

Her voice was a whisper. "Yule…Ball?"

Rubeus Hagrid nodded, smiling in a way that now reminded her of Lupin and Dumbledore. All of them looked like they were plotting, or knew something she didn't. Not again…

"That's righ', Airelle. Decemb'r 17th, as usual."

"But… that's in… less than two weeks…"

"So?"

She was silent for a while. "The Yule Ball still goes on here?"

"Why shouldn' it?" asked Hagrid, handing Airelle the smoking teapot. "They're expectin' all the teachers to be there. An' this year, they wan' certain teachers to look after some groups outside, so's they don' get in trouble." He smiled. The predominant way to get in trouble at a ball, Airelle knew, was to snog your date behind a bush in the gardens outside the Great Hall. And get caught.

She took the teapot and began to pour. "So, everyone has to be there?"

"Come on, you know the rules," said Hagrid, walking to the doorway as several noises approached. "This year, who knows… they migh' require all the teachers to dance, too!"

Airelle stared at him. The last time she had danced was at a Yule Ball-- or at least outdoors-- in her seventh year, with Snape…

"Airelle?"

"Yes?"

"You migh' wanna put the teapot down now," laughed the gamekeeper. Airelle looked down and saw that her cup had overflowed long ago and the tea was creeping along the table in waves. She banged the teapot down and blushed furiously. Why had this news affected her so much? So what if there was some silly ball? It was for students anyway… not the teachers… but then again…

She glared at the table and began to mop up the mess.

The noises beyond the door got louder, and Hagrid opened it. A shovel-worth of snow flew in, accompanied by a gigantic ball of fur on four legs, followed by a rope with three figures latched onto it, all wrapped in thick black Hogwarts robes.

"Sorry, Hagrid," breathed the person closest to the enormous boarhound. "Fang smelled a pair of tracks and dragged us--"

He stopped in mid-sentence, but only briefly, because Fang, still bound with the rope, wrenched him towards the table where Airelle sat. She barely had time to yelp as the huge dog pounced on her, licking her face with a tongue the size of a wet towel.

"Fang! Good boy," she sputtered, trying desperately to get the dog away from her. Hagrid called out a sharp word and the dog sat down on the floor obediently. Airelle's ponytail was beyond repair, and she loosened it from its strap and headband, meanwhile taking a good look at the three people who had just barged in.

She stopped in mid-defastening. The only one still holding onto Fang's rope was none other than Harry Potter.

Airelle blinked. In the light of the cabin, the boy looked so much like his father. Indeed, she had very often surprised James Potter and his friends in Hagrid's cabin years ago, having tea and talking merrily. They had always been awkward situations, with Airelle hastily saying to Hagrid that she'd visit him later, while Potter would look at her warily… They were good friends with Hagrid, and so was Airelle. It was amazing how the intimidating-looking gamekeeper was such a sociable and likable person.

"Professor!" said a voice, snapping Airelle out of her lightspeed-fast thoughts. She turned towards the other two people as they shook out their hair from the snow.

"Hello, Miss Patts, Miss Tylon," she said, smiling. "Hello to you too, Potter."

"Hello," returned Harry, looking at Hagrid inquiringly with 'should-we-leave' eyes. Hagrid, however, seemed unperturbed.

"Ah, good, yer all here," he said. "Come in, sit, we were jus' about to have tea."

"Great!" said Alica Tylon, flopping down next to Airelle and taking a cup. "Not as good as butterbeer, but it'll do." Her friend Tracy, laughing hysterically, joined the group assembled around the table. Now the only one standing was Harry Potter.

"Go on, Harry, sit," said Tracy, sliding a chair towards him. "Or else you'll have to eat the rock cakes without any tea to wash them down!"

Harry looked at Airelle some more. She raised her eyebrows. Could James's son possibly have inherited his mistrust of her?

Finally grinning, Potter sat down, and Hagrid asked cheerfully, "How was the walk?"

"Fine," laughed Tracy, smoothing her shiny black hair back over her shoulders. "Especially that last part, with Fang dragging us like rag dolls." At this, everyone burst out into laughter. It was strange, but in Hagrid's cabin, reserve melted, and they were just people, not students and teachers, not adults and children. Just people who happened to be at the same place at the same time.

"So, Harry," asked Airelle after the giggles subsided, "where are Ron and Hermione? You three are inseparable, I noticed."

"Harry's forced to be with us underdogs tonight," chortled Alica good-naturedly, spilling some tea on the table. "Ron and Herm are in Hogsmeade. But we're not upset… they'll bring us sweets, they promised."

"And butterbeer," Tracy added happily. "We three, by the way-- well, we're in detention, technically."

"Not again," groaned Airelle, smiling at Hagrid simultaneously. Doubtlessly, walking with Fang was his way of giving detention while everyone else was at Hogsmeade. "What did they do this time?"

"Alica and I," said Tracy proudly, "have succeeded in repeating the infamous Weasley twins' bathroom prank. Nearly exploded the prefects' bath, too, soap bubbles and all. Oh, glorious!"

"And I happened to witness it, so Snape-- err, Professor Snape-- accused me as well," added Harry, petting Fang.

Airelle realized that she was smiling when she should have been, as a teacher, scolding them. But then, she decided that Snape had already given them enough threats on his part, to be sure. And yet here they all were, having tea in Hagrid's cabin. Snape would have a fit if he knew…

The smile did not fade from her face until Harry suddenly said, "Professor?"

"Yes?"

The green eyes looked into hers. Faintly, Airelle could see the lightning scar—a mark of Voldemort that was left on the Gryffindor boy-- behind the tangled mane of black hair. So much pain was caused in one second. She had seen people die by the Avada Kedavra curse, and it was not pretty. She wouldn't wish that on her worst enemy. It had been described in the books, but no written word could compare to seeing the real thing. She had known exactly what had happened to Harry's parents, the same people she had seen smiling and talking at Graduation. It was almost surreal to know that she'd never hear their voices again. Airelle remembered, crystal clear as daylight, the very first time she'd seen one of her fellow Aurors get struck by the Killing Curse:

_ He never had time to scream. But others did._

_ "Avada Kedavra!" Airelle yelled, shrieking out the same words towards the Death Eater who had uttered them a second earlier. The Death Eater fell, but Airelle did not care. She hurtled past him and slid on her knees, stopping by the side of the fallen Auror. His limbs were twitching like a dead insect's, and the eyes were glowing green as the spell swirled inside them._

_ "Oh… oh, no…" she mumbled, trying to prop the man up. "Come on, don't you dare die on me…"_

_ But it was far too late. There was no defense from the Killing Curse. His eyes had become like green stained-glass windows, perpetually frozen. Airelle put her face up to his, and heat emanated from his eyes – the remnant of existence – his soul was leaving._

_ The Auror pounded her team member's chest in anger and frustration. "Don't die, damn it!"_

_ But the body let out a final shudder, and stiffened._

_ In the deathly silence, Omar Fauks put a hand on her shoulder. "It's over. Let him go, Airelle."_

_ "This was all my fault… I let him down. I was the leader, I should have protected him." She had never seen a person die like this before. It was ghastly, and her eyes stung._

_ "But he chose to protect you instead," said Omar, pushing the dead man's lids shut. "Both of you are heroes."_

Airelle leant her forehead on her palm and bent down. "Some hero I am… my God, what am I doing here?… what have I become?…"

"Did you know my father and mother well?" The voice sounded so distant. Airelle had to blink twice rapidly in order to shift her vision back to Harry Potter. By now, everyone in the cabin, including Fang, was staring at her intently. She coughed and drank some tea, which had become cold.

"Yes," was the professor's response. "Not as well as you'd think, but well enough. We were in the same year together. You look very much like him. James and I were not friends, but I admired him for his bravery." She had no idea why she was saying the truth to the boy. Perhaps it was the atmosphere of Hagrid's cabin that acted like a confessions booth, in the hopes that nothing would ever travel outside of it. Or maybe she had wanted to get this off herself for a very long time.

Alica leaned on the table, eyes shining. "Really? You were in the same year as Harry's mum and dad?"

"Yes," said Airelle, setting down the cup.

Harry suddenly looked up, as if he'd had an unpleasant realization. "That means you and Professor Snape were in the same year too…"

Airelle nodded; it was no use denying. But how could Harry have known about Snape's being in the same year as James Potter? Perhaps he was even aware of the grudge between the elder Potter and Severus Snape… just how much did that boy know?

Now, Tracy and Alica looked at each other and grinned. "I told you so," said Alica to her friend.

"Well, I knew it before you, you were too drunk on butterbeer," Tracy shot back, while the rest stared at them quizzically.

"What're you two talkin' about?" asked Hagrid, putting another plate of rock cakes on the table, without taking notice that the first one had not been touched yet.

Alica smiled again. "Well, Professor Snape had to do a great feat of rescue at Hogsmeade last weekend. Gilderoy Lockhart" -- Harry groaned at the mention of the name-- "had cornered Professor Vilka, and Snape got her away from Lockhart's little self-obsessive interview. Dunno what happened, but Lockhart looked pretty upset when he ran after them. It was funny," she added after a while.

Airelle sighed. The last thing Harry needed to know about was her friendship with his most hated teacher and mortal enemy of his father. "You see," she tried to explain, taking a rock cake and rolling it absently around on the table, "Professor Snape did a very good thing. It seems he is not too fond of Lockhart, and spared a fellow teacher the discomfort…"

"Oh," said Harry, although he did not look fully convinced. They all sat there for a while, until finally, Airelle thought, _Screw it, _and said, "Professor Snape is a good man. I've known him for a very long time, and both Hagrid and I can vouch for it. You see, Harry, for some people, you have to look deep inside to find what you need."

Tracy muttered something that sounded like "Yeah, _mine-shaft _deep."

"What?" Airelle asked.

"Nothing," Tracy and Alica quickly replied.

"Well," said Harry, rising from his chair, "it is late, I think our detention time is up. We should go, there's a Quidditch game tomorrow."

"Yes, you'd better," said Airelle, putting the rock cake back on the plate again. She was happy they were leaving; the conversation about the Potions Master had made her rather uncomfortable. The whole way Harry was growing suspicious about her and Snape… She had never realized that this could ruin her relationship with all the Gryffindors, not to mention the Hufflepuffs, and even members from her own Ravenclaw house. And she thought the House rivalry was over when she'd stopped being a student. In truth, it was just beginning. Moreover, just speaking of Snape in front of others had become similar to a pet peeve. What if she said the wrong thing? Did she even believe what she said? What if Snape found out…?

Airelle, when all these thoughts had been somewhat sorted in her head, found herself with a mammoth headache, and decided it was time for her to go and get some sleep as well. Tomorrow was another day; perhaps clearer things would come to mind.

If she weren't so preoccupied with her own thoughts when she bid good-night to Hagrid, Airelle Vilka would have noticed that the gamekeeper was shaking his head from side to side and smiling knowingly.

To be continued…


	9. The Yule Ball Blues

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 9 The Yule Ball Blues

December 17th was looming closer. And that was exactly the thing on Airelle Vilka's mind as she was showing her sixth-year Ravenclaw class the correct way to handle a Mesmerizing Illusion.

"Now," she said, flourishing her wand at a thirty-degree angle from her chest level, "please watch closely." Triple light beams of a maniacal shade of indigo erupted from her wand, and circled the student in front of the blackboard.

"As my victim-- I mean, volunteer -- has graciously demonstrated," said Airelle as the class sniggered, "a Mesmerizing Illusion is extremely difficult to distinguish from a Bond Charm. The same light rays hover around the person, imperceptible to him or her, but visible to the rest of us, and encase that person in a reverie. It proves to be excellent for confusing your opponent, thus giving you time to attack or run. This is why the Mesmerizing Illusion is used so often in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The main difference between the Charm and the Illusion, of course, rests in the fact that no reverse spell is needed to free oneself from the Illusion…" Airelle kept on talking in this fashion, reminding even herself of Professor Binns, whose very own dullness had probably been the reason he was a ghost. The phrase "bored to death" took on a whole new meaning when dealing with the History of Magic professor.

Her thoughts were, of course, not all there. For almost a week now, two nasty little one-syllable words had ransacked her mind worse than El Niño ever could: _Yule Ball_.

And why was she so worried anyway? Some nervous fifteen-year-old boy with hair resembling an electrocuted chihuahua, dress robes that were too small, and a face full of blotches from yet another Dungbomb incident -- _he_ had a reason to worry. Certainly, there was no logical explanation to draw from the jitters that had shot through her at odd moments all during the week, except for the fact that they were giving her massive indigestion.

Airelle dismissed her class vaguely without giving them homework, and sat at her desk as the students, whooping and cheering, went off to lunch. Less than a week… only less than a week to go until the dance. Why couldn't it have been a little later, on Christmas Day, like she knew it had been last year at the Triwizard Tournament? She'd have more time to think… Airelle concluded that she was acting like an obsessive teenager, just like she always did when nervous. A faint smile, so thin it was almost imperceptible unless one looked carefully, crept over the professor's face as she remembered the last Hogwarts dance she had witnessed…

_ "How do I look?" came a voice from behind her, and she turned around._

_ Snape tilted his head sideways. Airelle had helped him, early that evening, slick his black hair back over his head, revealing the shape of his angular face, high cheekbones, and his dark eyes._

_ She walked over to her best friend and smoothed out some wrinkles on his ember-black robes. "You look fine, at least I think so, but you sound like a model getting ready to strut."_

_ He stared at her. "What?"_

_ Airelle grinned and put on a high-pitched voice. "Oh...do, like, tell me, how do I look? I must look, like, simply perfectly gorgeous for, like, the dance!"_

_ Snape's thin mouth lifted in a smirk that he put on for her, and her only. "Airelle, you are an incurable maniac."_

_ "Thank you," she said. "Now, get in there, and make me proud!"_

_ "Now YOU're sounding like a Quidditch coach," Snape replied, walking to the doorway._

_ Airelle crossed her arms. "Just go."_

It took several loud bangs before Airelle realized someone was knocking. Crawling off her chair, she walked across to the door and opened it. And came face to face with Tracy Patts.

"Hullo, Professor," she said, smiling.

Airelle smiled back, albeit wanly. "Hello, Miss Patts. What is it?"

The girl pushed her black ponytail from her shoulder and extended a hand. "Sna—err, Professor Snape… wanted me to give you this."

A suspicious thought passed through the former Auror's head as she took the parchment. God, she was becoming more like Moody every day. Pretty soon she'd be looking for Voldemort in her trash cans. "Since when is Professor Snape sending you on errands?"

Tracy beamed, dark eyes shining. "Since he amplified mine and Alica's detention to the end of the month. Now he tells us exactly what will happen to us if we try and open his letters, like this one. I think he enjoys torturing us," she added brightly.

Airelle rolled her eyes and grinned. "All right, Miss Patts, thank you. You may go."

Tracy turned to leave.

"Oh, and Miss Patts?" called Airelle as she closed the door. The Ravenclaw student turned about in her tracks.

"Yes, Professor Vilka?" she asked pleasantly. A little too pleasantly.

"You just try and pull any Cupid-like bits on me," said Airelle, poking her head out of the door frame, "and you'll find yourself becoming familiar with my favorite personal creation -- the Lip-Stitching Potion."

"Will do," Tracy saluted, and turned on her heel, marching away nonchalantly as if all she was missing was a halo. Some angels these people were…

Airelle smiled after the retreating student and shut the door.

Potions was Hogwarts' least favorite class. Of course, everyone knew why -- Snape. In a way, Airelle was happy some things about him had not changed. He was still as nasty and horrible as he'd always been around people-- not your social butterfly. But he was his true self, and Airelle was willing to accept. And he could sometimes, after all, even be-- dared she think it? -- kind?? Respectful, honorable?

_Nice?_ Well, not today, to be sure. Airelle had heard people complaining in the hallways earlier; something about a surprise exam. Yep, definitely the Snape she knew. Very exacting, ambitious, unrelenting-- and brilliant…

The professor shook her head and shifted her attention to the slightly slimy steps leading towards the dungeons. Cold air wafted up at her from the staircase, and shadows danced in the dim torchlight. Just what exactly had attracted her to the dubbed 'snake haven' for seven years as a student, Airelle still could not fathom.

Something caught her eye up ahead -- a lone sheet gleaming on the stone wall, dark green ink seeming to move in the deceptive light. Upon walking closer to it, Airelle groaned loudly. Couldn't she find refuge anywhere from her thoughts?

_Attention, _(the paper read) _all Hogwarts Students, Faculty, and Staff:_

_ The annual Yule Ball shall take place at eight p.m., December 17th. Dress robes are required for everyone; no exceptions. Faculty may sign up in my office to monitor specific areas between the hours of eight and eleven. I strongly remind all students that the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds, even on the night on the dance. Spells will be in place as reinforcement, since a few of you have a tendency to wander there somehow, so I give you fair warning. Choose to ignore it, and I am sure that Mr. Filch shall be happy to provide you with some interesting holiday workload._

_ Albus Dumbledore,_

_ Headmaster_

Airelle had to smile as she kept walking towards the Potions classroom. Unbeknownst to even her closest Ravenclaw friends, Airelle Vilka the bookworm had had a surprising degree of temerity as a student. Countless hours spent in picking tree thorns from her dress robes at dances could vouch for that. The Forbidden Forest had been a haunt to a lot of students, but she'd bet half her Gringotts account that none of them frequented it for a stranger reason than she and Snape…

Potions, Potions. It was all about Potions, she thought.

A creak emitted from the door to the classroom as she opened it. No sounds were coming from the fireplace, but Airelle wasted no time in crossing the floor. "Open Sesame," she said, and the fireplace slid aside, granting her entrance.

"You wanted to see m--HOLY MERLIN, WHAT IS _THAT_??"

Snape turned around. Behind him, the huge cauldron bubbled and fizzed furiously, but that was not the cause of Airelle's shock. Beyond the cauldron stood something that looked like a transparent, glowing silver aquarium, and inside lay a giant orange, black-striped rope. Except it was moving. And it had three heads.

Airelle stood gaping by the entryway. Snape, however, looked very nonchalant and motioned for her to come inside.

"Oh, that?" he asked, as if having a seven-foot snake endowed with three heads was the most ordinary thing in the world. "It's a Runespoor."

She stepped closer, bearing an appalled expression. As if one head on a snake was not enough…

"A what?"

The Potions Master stirred the cauldron, jet-black hair falling into his face again. He looked at her disapprovingly through the ebony curtain. "I thought _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ was one of your favorite books."

"You expect me to remember something I read twenty years ago-- no, wait, don't answer that," sighed Airelle, staring into the stewing cauldron. "What's this Runespoor doing here?"

"It's about to give birth," declared Snape. "Hand me that vial of distilling solution, if you please."

The Illusions professor did not move. "Did you say… _give birth_?"

"Yes, yes," said Snape impatiently as the serpent banged against the walls of its confining space, "now give me the vial before this blasted thing explodes."

Her hand dragged across to the table and grabbed the glass tube. Snape took it from her and poured it gently into the cauldron, which by that point looked about ready to erupt. However, it thankfully slowed down and began to simmer softly without overflowing. Airelle drew another breath and said, "Please don't tell me you're using that thing for a potion." Just thinking of having to pick the snake up bothered her. Snape had always chided her for being afraid of the Slytherin house symbol, and thus Airelle, slowly but surely, had dissipated her fear. But that had been a snake with one head. Two more made a difference. Cerberus might have been cute if he only had one set of teeth, after all.

"We are not using it," said Snape. Airelle breathed a sigh of relief.

"We're using its eggs."

Airelle stared at him. "Oh, great. Even better. And it'll be sure to let us have them."

"We shall just have to see," murmured her friend, leaving the cauldron and walking closer to the dry aquarium. The right head of the serpent hissed and spit, while the others remained completely stationary.

"The Runespoor will give the eggs through its mouth," said Snape, as if he were reminding himself of what he'd read in the books. "So, all we need to do is grab one while the creature is still disoriented from the birthing process. Hopefully, the right head shall be the one to get the egg, since it's the most venomous and will produce eggs with more… kick."

"Kick?" repeated Airelle, having subdued her fear of the snake and walking a little closer. "How do you plan to use these eggs, anyway?"

"Mental agility potion," answered Snape without turning around. "So many idiots think the only thing Runespoors are good for is being a pet of a Dark Wizard. Ridiculous. It's not even that vicious. The rumor has grown so large that I had to get this magnificent creature off the black market."

"Black market? When?"

"Earlier this week. Thankfully, my contacts still feared me enough to grant me passage to a trading sector in Burkina Faso."

"I see," said Airelle. She knew Snape had had connections as a Death Eater, but just how many of them had been fully severed? The black market was dangerous, but she supposed she trusted Snape enough not to bring anything like a basilisk egg into Hogwarts. Right?

Snape flexed his shoulders and suddenly said, "I think it's starting--"

Airelle looked around her friend's black-robed form to see the Runespoor begin to writhe. It stood up precariously on its tail, and then dropped again. The two watched as the right head swelled horribly and spat out three orange eggs too large for its jaws. Moving incredibly fast, Snape scooped up the first two eggs and threw them to Airelle, who caught them and quickly placed them in a cup, because the shells were burning hot. After the third had joined its fellows, Snape rolled down his sleeves and said, "I must give the Runespoor to a buyer tomorrow. Dumbledore won't like its presence here if he finds out."

Inwardly, Airelle was glad to be rid of the creature. It was pretty, once you looked at it for a while, but then the heads began to fight with each other and caused a nasty mess. Not good.

"So," she said as they sat down while the eggs steamed in the cup, "signed up for the Yule Ball list in Dumbledore's office yet?"

Snape looked at her, and something odd passed over his face briefly. "No, why do you ask? You've never been too fond of dances."

Airelle licked her lips and thought hard. _Was_ she afraid to go to this dance? And if so, why?

"I'm just wondering," she said, "if I'm the only one left who doesn't have a group to watch."

"Those hormone-ridden teenagers are the reason that we have to break our backs and wander around giving them detention when we could be doing something else," muttered Snape angrily, making Airelle smile. He had disliked Sirius Black for many reasons, and hormones had been one of them. Black was a regular Casanova with the girls, and to see him dateless was like seeing the Tower of London dance -- impossible. Snape had never been as popular. Though there was that one time with Eola Jedkins--

Airelle burst out laughing, and Snape frowned.

"What's with you?"

"N… nothing," she lied badly.

"I think I'll sign up to keep an eye on the fourth years outdoors," said Snape, black eyes still looking at her strangely. "They tend to fall asleep and go off to bed early. That means I leave early as well."

Airelle had to agree; it was logical. "Yes… I'll…" She paused for a second. "I… will think about where I'll sign up. Probably outdoors too," she added quietly. "The Great Hall is too noisy. No privacy."

Snape's eyes narrowed, in the same way she had seen them a couple of weeks ago, when she had returned to Hogwarts. It was that exact same look, the one she could not interpret. She'd tried everything. But seeing it through another pair of eyes was not as easy as it seemed. Although now, with the dreams and nightmares she'd been having, it was a little less hard. That scared her, in itself.

"Why would you need… privacy?" he asked, teasing.

Airelle's grin extended to her ears. "Well, sign up for outdoors, and you'll find out why," was her response, and Snape laughed.

"As horrible as always, Miss Vilka," he said.

"Of course," she replied. "Although I think it's this room. It makes me frivolous for some odd reason. Perhaps it is because I remember all the things that happened here with us."

Snape looked at the walls, as if he were too recalling the events of nearly two decades ago. Why couldn't things ever be consistent? This little dungeon room had witnessed sadness, laughter, fights, sarcasm, drive, and ambition. All emotions experienced by the same two people sitting in it now. Except they were adults, but were still feeling the same types of emotions. Nothing changed in the end, really.

Airelle put her arms over her head and yawned, stretching herself over the chair. How many times had she fallen asleep over a book here as a young girl? Too many to count.

_To heck with it,_ she thought. She was going to go to that dance. And act with Snape as she would have had they been students again. Screw what people would say; it was not like they were going to hold hands. If her acquaintances and students had enough sense to see past superficiality, they would not care about Snape.

And, Airelle had to admit to herself, it was going to be fun. She had never been to a dance with her best friend before. Both had been there, in the Great Hall, separately, but never as a date--

But she had to ask him first. Here is where the problem lay. What if he refused? How much, exactly, did she know about him since her seventh year at Hogwarts?

_It's stupid anyway, _she thought. _Why would Snape agree, and ruin his reputation with the Slytherins? I'm just a fellow teacher; he could still talk to me without us being on a date. But still, for some odd reason I wish--_

"Airelle?" he suddenly asked.

She looked at him, blinking as if she'd just been pulled out of water. "Err…yes?"

His smile was very knowing. But unlike Dumbledore's, Lupin's, or Hagrid's. It was a different kind of knowledge.

"What is it you _really_ came to talk to me about?"

Airelle emitted a mock gasp. "Potions, of course. There isn't anything. I mean, you called me--"

"I did nothing of the sort."

She stared. "What? You didn't?"

"No."

"But I got a message from--" Then, she realized something. Tracy Patts and Alica Tylon. _Oh, I'm going to kill those two…_

"In any case," Snape cut her off, "if you want to ask me to the Yule Ball, feel free to do so. You've been sitting here for a while, and I'm wondering what's taking you so long."

Airelle's jaw nearly dropped. "Wha--"

"Look," said Snape, "Dumbledore is going to force us to come anyway. Thus, at least we shall have a pretext to talk to each other if we both sign up for the same thing. Or do you want me to be stuck talking to Trelawney all night?"

"Oh, no," said Airelle truthfully. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Well, except maybe that git Lockhart…"

Snape smiled. "Good. Then we go together, we leave together, and anyone who dares to ask questions--"

"--shall be promptly dismembered," Airelle finished for him with a laugh.

_Was that so hard? _said a voice in her head. _God, you're pathetic, Vilka. Snape had to say it for you. He knew already what you were so worried about asking. Yeesh, some confidence we have._

_ Oh, be quiet, _Airelle snapped. But inside, relief flooded through her. And like she had said a while ago-- what was to come, would come. And face it, she must, whether it be the Dark Lord or the Yule Ball. Same principle…

The cauldron to their side began to hiss again. Snape rose and took the cup with the Runespoor eggs. Removing one, he handed it to Airelle and said, "Crack it in the dish on the table, but mind none of the insides touches you, it is very poisonous to the skin."

Airelle nodded and walked towards the Ingredients table, where a large and empty silver dish stood among scales and jars of slime.

"Snape," she called, cracking the egg, "do you think--"

But she did not get to finish her sentence. Because out of the corner of her eye, she saw the glass in the aquarium crack as the Runespoor thrashed wildly against it. The left and middle head had apparently joined in an effort to bite off the remaining one, and it was fighting against itself. Airelle watched in horror and stunned silence as thin cracks inched along the glass like a spider's web, and then--

BANG. The aquarium now had a hole in it, letting loose a painful shower of glass bits. She could see the Runespoor hissing madly, unexpectedly, one head missing, and slithering straight towards Severus Snape.

Airelle instinctively reached for her wand, but tipped the dish over, and a white-hot liquid seared over her hands, sweeping like a conflagration across her veins, into her very being. She squeezed her eyes shut as she had always done during an onset of fever, and heard shouts over the noise, and then someone supporting her in their cool arms, and fingers sweeping her forehead. And then, there was nothing but blackness.

To be continued…


	10. The Hospital Wing

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

A/N: Preliminary apologies for the 'shortness' of this chapter… The next few could take a while, because I have my SAT on June 2nd and need to study. :-( I shall do my best to continue, though, so who knows? The next chapter could be up soon.

Chapter 10 The Hospital Wing

"How is she, Poppy?"

_She? Who's she?_

"She has had quite a nasty burn, but I think I'll mend it."

_ Burn? That must hurt._

"Very well. Any idea when she could awaken?"

"No, Minerva. Severus did not exactly say what this was…although I think I have an idea," the voice added quietly.

_Severus? Who's-- oh… Snape. Right._

"I see. Well, make her comfortable, Poppy."

"Don't worry, she shall be fine. Please tell the Headmaster so."

"I will. Goodbye."

"Good night, Minerva."

The voices fell silent, and two sets of footsteps retreated in different directions.

Soon, the door opened again. Several people, it seemed, had just entered.

"Please, Madam Pomfrey, may we see Professor Vilka?"

_Professor Vilka? Oh, wait a minute, that would be me. Silly._

The woman was hesitant, but finally said, "Oh, all right. But make it short; it's just like talking to a statue anyway."

She went into another room, by the sound of it, and feet approached the bed.

_Bed? Oh, so that's where I am._

"You think she's all right?"

"Of course she's all right, you dufus! See, she's breathing!"

"That's nothing," said another voice. "My great-grandfather Newt was breathing too -- right before he died!!-- Ouch!"

"You think she needs to hear that, Alica?" said the first voice, annoyed.

"What makes you think she can hear us at all?"

"Oh… she is going to kill us when she wakes up."

"It's not our fault she got hurt!"

_Hmmm… so I got hurt. Ah, yes… the Runespoor…_

"Yeah, but we sent her down to the dungeons with that note-- which was YOUR idea, Tracy!"

"Shush! You want the whole world to hear that?"

"Sorry."

"Anyone say what did this?"

"Nope. Snape was the one who brought her up here, and--"

"Snape?!"

"Yeah. He's keeping mum. And Madam Pomfrey won't say anything either."

"Oh. But Hermione, d'you think it's very bad? You've read a lot, maybe you can figure--"

"I have no idea, Neville. But it mustn't be too bad. Look, I overheard Madam Pomfrey say something about burns spreading up her arms and her face. Do you see anything?"

"Err…no."

"See? She's fixed it. Now, come on, before she wakes up and sees Alica and Tracy."

"Yeah, we'd better. Come on, Neville." The others walked to the door, but there was still a presence near the bed.

"Go on, I'll be right out," called Neville's voice. The door shut, and there was silence.

_Oh dear… the poor boy must be worried…_

"I hope you'll be all right," said Neville timidly. Then, his voice grew quiet. "It better not have been Snape who did this."

"Are you all right, dear?" called out Pomfrey's voice from some distance.

"Oh, uh, yes," the boy muttered quickly and a pair of feet shuffled hastily towards the door. "Goodbye, Madam Pomfrey."

"Goodbye." And all was quiet.

Airelle opened her eyes and blinked. A canopy stared down at her. The curtains had been drawn; she had no idea what time of day it was. But Pomfrey had bid good night to McGonagall. So…

She got up without pain, and looked at herself. Her fingers were still slightly red from where the Runespoor egg liquid had soaked them, and she had a sore throat and a sizable headache, but otherwise, everything was as it should have been. A thought passed through her mind… _How long have I been out?_

Turning her head from side to side to make sure her neck was working, Airelle drew aside the edge of the curtains about a centimeter. There was no movement from the other side. She pushed a little further.

The room was empty; Madam Pomfrey had gone to bed. A single candle was burning on the nightstand, sending flickering shadows dancing across the walls. Soft glow streamed in through the window – moonlight. It was late.

Airelle did not feel sleepy, and hung her bare feet off the bed. It was then that she noticed the pile of things stacked neatly on the floor next to her.

Curious, she crept out and knelt next to the heap. And gasped.

They were presents. Little wrapped boxes addressed to her, of all shapes and sizes. Airelle smiled. Did people think that highly of her-- only after two weeks? It was true she was nice to the students-- but so soon--

She took the first on her lap and quietly took off the paper. Upon opening it, a light exploded onto her face and she had to turn away. When the Greeting Spell had cleared, Airelle removed a small wooden box and a card from Professor Flitwick, head of Ravenclaw House. It read:

_Though you may not be well now/Don't worry about a thing/It'll turn out great somehow/And you'll be back before you can say 'Feather Wing'_

_With Love, Prof. Flitwick and the Students of Ravenclaw _

_P.S. We know we can't rhyme. But you can't blame us for trying!_

Airelle laughed softly and opened the box. But she immediately regretted it, because as soon as she had lifted the lid, music began to emanate from it. The Illusions professor smacked it shut and crawled back into bed, listening for Madam Pomfrey.

When a sufficient amount of time had passed, Airelle came out again, straightened her nightgown, and unwrapped the rest of the presents. There was one from Dumbledore, Sprout, Sinistra, more teachers, and many of the students—most from her Illusions classes. There was one entitled 'From A. Tylon and T. Patts,' but she decided not to open it. Knowing those two, it would probably be a Dungbomb.

One from Neville and the Gryffindor Class… Hagrid… and…

"What's this?" she whispered, picking up a small paper she hadn't noticed before. Raising her eyebrows, she unfolded it. On the top, written in green ink, were four lines in a flowing handwriting.

Ink shouldn't be wasted And neither should sound

_So do yourself a favour_

_And turn around._

"Oh, no…" She had no choice, but turned slowly. And standing next to her bed, long fingers running over the curtains, was none other than Severus Snape.

"Gg…g…h…"

"Good, you interpreted the message correctly," he said, crossing his arms and looking down at Airelle, who was still crouched on the floor. "I said sound shouldn't be wasted, and you're quiet. Better than I expected."

She was thunderstruck. "What are you doing here--"

"Shh!" he hissed suddenly, sweeping towards her and grabbing her hand.

"Wha—"

The Potions Master did not reply, but dragged her up and basically threw Airelle and himself into the bed, drawing the curtains shut and leaving them in the darkness.

Airelle stared at him, bewildered. Snape put a finger to his lips and pointed towards the doorway.

A soft pair of footsteps had just entered the room. It was Madam Pomfrey. She walked a little closer to the bed just as Airelle began to realize how odd this looked. What if she opened the curtains to check on her patient? _All I need right now to complete my day is to be found in bed with Severus Snape,_ she thought and would have exploded into laughter had Snape not clamped a cold hand over her mouth.

Madam Pomfrey stopped next to the candle. She only had to pull back the curtains.

_Please, please don't open them._

She reached up towards the crease.

_Oh, we're doomed._ Airelle prepared herself for a loud scream. In the back of her mind, a voice laughed at her again. _Oh, this should be amusing. Never thought you'd wind up here with Snape, of all places, eh?_

A sound suddenly came from the room Madam Pomfrey had just exited.

"Oh, goodness, is that silly Kneazle clawing the furniture again?" She shuffled away into the other room in her slippers, muttering to herself about her pet, leaving Airelle to breathe the kind of relief a prisoner standing on the gallows felt at being freed. She looked backwards at Snape, whose breath was even. His eyes glittered magnificently, like obsidian diamonds, in the darkness.

"I'm going to kill you," she growled and made to throw the nearest available thing—a pillow--at him. However, it did not work, because he wrestled it away from her and said like an impatient parent, "Come, we can maim each other later."

With that announcement, the Potions Master crawled out of bed, black robes trailing like water after him, and gestured for Airelle to come out the door.

She looked at him and smiled. He was sneaking her out of the hospital wing to wander around school in the middle of the night. If they'd been students, it would have been understandable. But they were teachers… and Snape was the most loathed in the school… the venture was now hysterically funny, to say the least.

The former Auror shrugged, took her wand from the table, and followed her friend into the hallway on tiptoe.

To be continued…


	11. Midnight Voyages

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 11 Midnight Voyages

Silence had reigned ever since the two had left the Hospital Wing. Airelle shivered as she followed Snape down the corridors, flinching at every sound. She felt like a child who'd gone out of bed to look for Santa on Christmas Eve. Or perhaps just take the cookies and milk that were left out for Santa.

She crossed her arms for warmth, and felt her cold fingers through her nightgown. Of all the things they could have chosen to change her into at the Hospital Wing, they had to pick this flimsy piece of--

Snape slowed his pace and walked beside her. If she'd been blind, she would not have known it, even by his footsteps. Because, of course, his feet did not make a sound on the floor. That achievement of movement Airelle had yet to master fully. As an Auror, there was always the direct approach, but sneaking up on people was something she'd been instructed in as well. To Snape, it seemed to come naturally.

He looked her over thoroughly for several seconds, then slipped his over-robe off his shoulders and wordlessly handed it to his friend.

"What d'you think, I'm so weak that I can't handle a s—silly chill?" she asked, but the scathing tone was somewhat undermined by the sudden chattering of her teeth.

Snape looked sideways at her. "After all the trouble I went through to get into your room, I wouldn't want you to freeze to death," he said. "But if you choose to be stubborn, then give it back and keep on shivering."

Airelle glared at him, but found no sufficient response, so she grudgingly slid her bare arms into the sleeves, which were so long that they hid her hands completely. The robe dragged on the floor and looked like a badly sewn Halloween costume. How was it that she could make it look so clumsy, while on Snape the material looked like fluid?

_Must be a Slytherin thing, _she thought, and grinned because her assumption was utterly imbecilic. Snape, thankfully, did not notice any of this, but kept on leading her down the numerous corridors, and their cold stone floors. Airelle was thankful that she had been smart enough to put on her shoes before leaving the Hospital Wing. Otherwise, Snape would probably have been forced to carry her, and that prospect definitely put a damper on her 'independent' spirit. One thing, Airelle knew-- if she ever married, she'd pummel her groom senseless if he tried to carry her over the threshold. Just a little pet peeve of hers, that's all…

"Aren't you going to be cold?" she murmured quietly, glancing around at the darkened doors of the classrooms as though something was surely going to pop out any second. At Hogwarts, these things tended to happen. And to walk through, say, a ghost, was none too pleasant.

Snape gestured towards the remainder of his garments with his hands. "No," was the plain response, and they kept walking. Airelle was not convinced, and scrutinized him from the shoes up. Apparently, he had not dressed for bed yet; he was still wearing a warm under-robe like the one Airelle had in her room. Or somewhere in the Hospital Wing, since it was now probably smeared with Runespoor egg juice and she had no idea what Madam Pomfrey did with it. Beyond the under-robe -- well, she obviously could not see clearly. Consoling herself with the fact that Snape had enough sense not to let himself freeze for her sake, Airelle was silent until a question came into her head. A question that she should have asked a while ago.

"Where are we going?"

Snape stared straight ahead. "Don't worry, I shall return you to Pomfrey in the morning. She'll never know you were gone… What?" he asked, turning his head slightly and seeing his friend's glare.

"Oh, thank you, I really like being treated like a library book that you can _return_," she sneered, in a way not unlike Snape's own.

Snape stopped. His fathomless black eyes gazed into hers, and suddenly the corridor seemed much smaller and lacking in air.

He looked at Airelle for a long time (she did not really notice its passing) before speaking. "If you must know, we are going to my quarters," he said curtly and continued walking. Airelle had to run to catch up.

"Quarters? You mean, your bed-chambers?"

"Yes."

"Oh, right," she said absently. The Illusions professor had walked a full ten feet before she realized what Snape had just said. She stopped so suddenly that had Snape been walking behind her, he would have crashed into her.

"Did you just say… bed-chambers?" she whispered. It was not uncommon for them to sleep in the same room as students (there had been lots of incidents when they'd fallen asleep over their potions ingredients), but she now remembered, for some odd reason, the words of Peeves the Poltergeist: _"Wandering 'round at night, and where are you headed, anyway… could it be that you're visiting ol' Severus Snape in his bedroom, eh?"_ Airelle flinched at the memory. Why did she have that reaction? Lord knows…

Snape looked at her again, and something passed through his eyes. Was it hurt? "If you're implying that I will seek to take advantage of our situation," he said, the old sneer quickly returning to his face, "I can assure you of my respectability as a gentleman."

Airelle winced inwardly. Did he think that she doubted him in his demeanor because of his Death Eater days? "Oh… no…" she began, looking up at those magnificent black eyes in the darkness, "that's not what I meant--" It took her a second to realize she was blushing intensely. Cursing herself, Airelle thanked the lack of light for hiding her face. Why was this whole thing happening? _Hormones, blasted hormones…_

"I meant," she said, "that it's not often this happens. And couldn't this wait until tomorrow?"

"No," he replied, the scowl leaving his face. "I felt it would be safer if I kept an eye on you. In this case, Madam Pomfrey did not treat you fully, and I do not blame her. First, I did not tell her exactly what hurt you. Second, I happen to know more about Runespoor damage by mere experience than she does. Thus, I intend to make sure that you recover before tomorrow comes."

"You mean this thing is still having effects on me?"

"Correct," said Snape, as if she were a student who had done her homework. "I happen to have some potions in my private cabinet, not in my office or in the room behind the Potions fireplace, that could help you."

"I see. Someone said you had brought me to the Hospital Wing. I trust that no one--"

"No," Snape replied before she'd even voiced her worry. "Nobody has seen that room. But we shall talk about what occurred later. Now, we must be quiet. You, of all people, should know the walls here have ears."

"Yeah," joked Airelle as they passed a painting of a snoozing, curly-haired woman. "Not to mention the artwork, and the suits of armour, and…"

"Hush!" he suddenly said, gripping her shoulder so hard she could see the muscles on his arm tighten. Airelle had not heard anything, not even by Auror instinct. _See what I mean, Vilka?_ chastised a voice in her head. _Whenever Snape's around, you lose your vigilance. Why is that, may I ask?_

Airelle rolled her eyes mentally, allowing Snape to drag her behind a motionless (thank heavens for that) suit of armour on the side of the corridor. They were back in the dungeons now. Who could possibly be wandering around at this time?

Airelle grinned as the now-audible footsteps came closer. There was a good chance of the person being a Slytherin student out of bed. Of course, who else could be down here? And thus, if it were a Slytherin, she'd get to watch Snape take points off his own house. She'd never seen him do that before, and was actually looking forward to how he was planning on twisting out of it. Airelle did not have to be away from him for twenty years to realize Snape was biased in favor of his house. After all, he had been ever since they were young; why change now? It was almost funny, really, how he loathed the Gryffindors. At least, thought Airelle, she was somewhat able to make him appreciate the other houses. But then again, Slytherins were more likely to talk to Ravenclaws than anyone else, since the Ravenclaws could relate to them, in an odd sense…

_This is actually fun,_ she thought, the grin still not wiped off her face. The marvelous tinge in your heart when you were about to surprise your friend with a gift -- that was probably the closest feeling to the one she had now, the one she had gotten many times, years ago…

_"Snape, are you sure this is a good ide--ow!"_

_ "Would you be quiet?" hissed Airelle's friend from somewhere behind her. They were in the staff room, of all places. Talk about a wrong turn… it was their first year, and they'd planned to go up to the towers… but now, they were hiding out from an invisible person, searching for them somewhere in the dark corridors. It was a teacher, for sure; he or she must have heard Snape's eloquent curse when he stubbed his toe against a thick wooden door._

_ Airelle bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling, for lack of doing anything else constructive. Her breathing was very irregular and hurried, as if she'd just emerged from a Quidditch game and was regaining air. Snape, however, was behind her and did not make a sound, save to shush her occasionally when footsteps got louder. She envied him, good-naturedly, for the ability._

_ The doorknob turned. Her heartbeat caught in her throat and stuck. She gripped the edge of the armchair she was hiding behind--_

But it was not the feeling of wood that went into her nerve ends, but the chill of metal. Airelle was catapulted back into the present, suddenly, and realized that what she had grabbed and twisted was the hand of the suit of armour next to her.

Snape only had time to look at Airelle oddly before the both of them fell backwards into the passage that had opened in the corridor wall.

"Ouch," was the first thing that came out of Airelle's lips as she and the Potions professor rose from the stone floor. The room was graced with a medium ceiling, a few chairs, a cabinet that looked like it was going to collapse under its weight of dust, and several candles bewitched with a Perma-Glow Charm. Semi-faded prints on the chairs and the floor caught the ex-Auror's attention immediately. Someone had frequented this place within the past month or so…

"What is this?" she murmured softly, as if afraid to disturb the multiple spider-webs that hung precariously on the ceiling. Snape, meanwhile, stood next to the passage (which had silently slid shut), listening intently. Airelle tore her gaze away from the cabinet and turned towards her friend.

_Just like old times…_

Both froze as a pair of feet passed on the other side of the wall with a series of even, dull clunks. The sound receded relatively quickly, and the Potions professor turned around, a thoughtful look crossing his pale face in the darkness.

"Curious…" he said.

In the meantime, Airelle had already walked into the middle of the room. Hogwarts hid many secrets, and this one was not familiar to her. There was a bitter residue in the air, as though a restless spirit had haunted it for centuries--

_Could this be the Bloody Baron's place?_ she wondered, blowing the dust off a magic-sealed lock on the large cabinet door. But no-- ghosts would surely not need a cabinet… but then again…

Finally, deciding it was worth a shot, Airelle opened her mouth to call Snape; but he'd been quick-minded and stood there, wand ready, before she had even said a word.

"Stand back," he ordered, and there was something worried in his voice Airelle had not heard before. "I do not like this…"

"Maybe we should not open it," Airelle hesitated, but moved to the side nonetheless. Whoever had been in here had not opened the lock. And when something stays clamped magically and covered with ages' worth of dust, it is either a treasure or a curse. Probably the latter, in this case. But hopefully not.

Snape's eyes looked set, though, and he said softly, "As long as we are here…" He broke off. "I have a bad feeling," he ventured again, "but we must…"

Airelle did not need explanations for the lack of coherency in his statement. One did not want to get oneself ensnared in a trap, but had to throw a stick for its jaws to snap shut. Only… what made Snape so certain it was a trap?

"Abrete!" said Snape loudly, and a stream of ruby light radiated from the tip of his wand. The lock exploded; the door burst open, sending dust everywhere in suffocating clouds.

Snape was there before Airelle even had time to cough. "Just as I thought," he murmured triumphantly, long fingers closing over the spine of a book with faded edges as he lifted it up.

Airelle's eyes watered from the dust. Funny; she never had a reaction like that before. "What--_achoo!--_is it?" she asked, coming closer.

Severus Snape turned around, black eyes shining. "It looks as if we have stumbled upon old Dippet's storage room," he announced.

"Dippet," Airelle repeated, sitting tentatively in the nearest chair and watching her friend open the book cautiously. His face was pointed away, and his eleven-inch wand was raised to the pages, as if he were expecting something to pop out. "I've heard the name before…"

"He was Headmaster here before Dumbledore," explained Snape, heading towards the cabinet again, Airelle wanted to follow, but thought better of it, since Snape was returning with the same book in any case.

"So?" she asked.

"After Dumbledore became Headmaster," (here the Potions Master adopted the teacher voice; Airelle guessed it came automatically) "I suppose he put quite a few charms on this place. But since we are unwanted visitors, and no harm has come to us yet, either those spells are wearing off or Fortune smiles on us for once."

Airelle did not find herself understanding. "Then, why do you sound so happy to find this room?"

To her surprise, Snape's smile was grim. "Happy? Hardly. In fact, I am amazed that Dumbledore did not destroy it by now. Perhaps he knows something I do not… biding his time…"

"Eh?" said Airelle. Snape was hiding something again; thankfully, she had a feeling the answer to this one was right in front of her.

"May I see that?" she asked curiously, and without waiting for an answer, laid a hand on the book. It felt coarse, yet oddly hot, and the parchment had grown a sickly yellow with the passage of the years.

Snape turned the book around and allowed Airelle's eyes fall on the minute scribble that graced the pages.

She did not have to flip through them, however. Three little words had caught the former Auror's gaze like a grappling hook and held them there.

_Flight From Death._

Her cold fingers tightened on the cover.

'What… where is this book from?" she asked, feeling something similar to a nausea that one experienced when holding a wound tight. Keep holding, and the blood trickles in rivulets down your arms mockingly; let go, and it flows like a river. Either way, you lose. Airelle, clutching the book, shifted her eyes to Snape, who sighed.

"You've recognized the translation of Lord Voldemort's name," he said. "At least now you cannot say you've come off worse as far as languages go."

Airelle did not reply; instead, she lowered her gaze again and fingered towards the cover. On the first page, in a richly flowing hand, was written: T.M. Riddle.

"T.M. Riddle," she whispered, looking away, trying to recall times long adrift.

"The Trophy Room," Snape offered.

"The Trophy Room!?" she exclaimed. _Ah, yes,_ said a voice in her head, _you remember, don't you?_

_ "I cannot believe we have detention. Again," murmured Airelle Vilka, the old broom that she'd been given swishing back and forth on the stone floor. It jumped yet again, and smacked the fifth-year Ravenclaw in the shins. Luckily, Severus Snape spoke at that moment, drowning out Airelle's intense desire to send the broom somewhere where the sun doesn't shine._

_ "At least be happy we are not stuck with Potter," he said, kicking his own broom, which was as far from willing to cooperate as Snape was from willing to wear a pink tutu. Apparently, it liked flying much better than sweeping, and kept trying to lift the Slytherin boy off the ground._

_ "Potter had detention too, did he?" smirked Airelle, and Snape began to laugh._

_ "He deserved it. Played the moronic prank on me in the first place."_

_ Airelle was grinning. "Very well, fine, but you were the one who slipped our home-made Balding Potion into Potter and Black's respective mugs of pumpkin juice."_

_ "Yes, it did prove quite handy."_

_ "Snape!" Airelle exclaimed, failing to hide a smile. "McGonagall nearly had a heart attack."_

_ "She's young," said Snape nonchalantly. "She'll live through it."_

_ "Whatever the case may be," said his friend, exaggerating the last word and struggling with the now recoiling broom, "both of us and Potter have detention for our behaviour. Now, look at us; we have to sweep the Trophy Room, without magic."_

_ "Be thankful our supervisor left to watch Potter," mused Snape, sneezing as his broom smacked him in the face and buried his shiny black hair under a pile of dust. His head now looked like a badly made flour ball._

_ "Say something," he warned dangerously when Airelle's mouth began to twitch, "and you'll be dealing with an angry Slytherin on a maniacal broom."_

_ "All right, all right," she choked back the laughter, raising her arms and instead glancing around. The Trophy Room (or Famae, as the two termed it) was enormous, with an immensely high ceiling and hundreds of glimmering trophies stacked in glass and gilded metal shelves along the walls._

_ "I wonder…" her voice echoed, and she trailed off, walking closer to one of the transparent cabinets._

_ "Wonder what?" came her friend's voice behind her. "If we should use magic to sweep this? I've been thinking about that myself."_

_ "No, no," she murmured absently, putting a finger on the glass edge. Her line of vision rested on a large Special Services Award in the center of the shelf. "I was just wondering what these people had to do to get their names here, for eternity."_

_ "If you're talking about Quidditch," said Snape bitterly, abandoning his broom and walking closer to Airelle, "all you must do to win that is fly around--"_

_ Airelle glared at him quickly. "I play too, you know."_

_ "That's different, and you know that," said Snape. Obviously, he was thinking of Potter. "You prize academics more than the game. On the other hand, there are some who care for nothing else than being famous and looked up to."_

_ Airelle did not think Potter was vain to that extent, but she had had the argument with Snape many times. Her friend was a better debater, so it was wise not to bicker. Not right now, anyway._

_ She shifted the subject. "I was not looking at Quidditch trophies anyway," she said. "I was merely admiring this Special Services to the School Award."_

_ "T.M. Riddle," Snape read, but his voice was not enthusiastic. I heard some teacher talk about him once. He was Head Boy here many years ago."_

_ "Oh," said Airelle. "There's a person I'd like to admire…"_

Airelle opened her eyes without even realizing they'd been closed. Snape was looking at her intently.

"Yes," she said. "I remember."

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," said Snape slowly, "is Voldemort himself."

"How do you know?" asked Airelle, flipping some more through the pages. It was regular class-work, from what she could tell. This was one of Riddle's schoolbooks. So Dumbledore had hidden them here, for fear of harmful spells inside them. But why didn't he destroy them? Now that the Dark Lord was back, would he want the books back? Would he try? And most of all: why would Dumbledore keep them here?

"If you forget," said Snape, emotion leaving his eyes as he said it, "I was a Death Eater. I found out soon after I joined, by accident from a colleague."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"What was the use? To bring shame? Very few people know his identity, but I happen to be aware that his mother, a witch, came from an old and respected family. Its name does not deserve to be shattered. From what I understand, her relatives did not keep too much of a contact with her when she married a Muggle, but they never knew that her son went on to become the Dark Lord."

"All right," said Airelle, as slowly as Snape had spoken, "but Dumbledore knows."

"Correct. Dippet did not, but Dumbledore guessed after a while, and wisely collected most of Tom Riddle's books that had been floating around the wizarding community, and put them here. Voldemort does not know about this yet, as far as I can tell. Dumbledore must have some purpose in doing it, but I trust my judgment as well. And right now, it is not too great of an evaluation."

"I see," murmured Airelle. "But what I want to know is… what could be in these books that's so terrible…"

Snape opened his mouth. But before he'd had a chance to reply, they heard a creak of metal, and the passage behind them began to slide open.

To Be Continued…


	12. On to the Bed-Chambers

Wishes

By Airelle Vilka

Chapter 12 On to the Bed-Chambers

Intelligence had served Airelle well over her years as an Auror. However, there were some instances where that would not help. There was no time to plan; and consequently, raw instinct took over. Adrenaline pumped in her veins as she pulled her wand from the cumbersome cloak Snape had given her and whispered, "Ne Vidi!"

_Quick thinking. Maybe you aren't so hopeless after all, _laughed a voice in her head as the Illusion swept over herself and Snape, effectively making them invisible. Well, unless the person who would come in could sense Illusions on sight. Like Dumbledore. In that case, they were doomed to be discovered.

The cabinet door was still open. Blast it. Now whoever entered was going to know the room had been disturbed, and--

_One thing at a time, Vilka. One thing at a time._

Airelle and Snape stood next to the cabinet, pressed to the wall. The Illusion had made them invisible, but not intangible, after all. And smacking into something 'not there' was definitely bound to rouse suspicion.

"Ouch, stop it, will you?" floated a voice as two figures entered the room. They removed their cloaks, and Airelle nearly gasped.

It was Alica Tylon and Tracy Patts, the two Ravenclaws. But why were they here, in the dungeons?

"Sorry," Alica was saying. "But it's not my fault you walk so slow."

Tracy ignored that comment. "Are you sure no one saw us?"

"Positive," replied her friend happily. The passage door had slid shut. "No Slytherins lurking about tonight."

"Good," said Tracy. "I was afraid Malfoy would be onto us, the slimy git."

"Yeah," murmured Alica, rubbing her arms from the chill. Both girls were dressed in nightgowns and their hair was sticking out every which way. It reminded Airelle of herself in the morning.

Snape had narrowed his eyes, and Airelle tightened her fingers on his shoulder. _Not now, _she thought, as if they had a telepathic link. _You'll scare them to death, and anyway, we do not want to be seen here._

His arm relaxed under Airelle's grip as Alica added, "I thought Malfoy knew about our little prank planning too."

"Well, he does not, it seems," answered Tracy, smoothing her unruly black hair and failing. Her eyes squinted into the room, and it was then, apparently, that she realized something.

"Oi, Alica, look here!"

"What?"

Tracy swiftly crossed over to the cabinet, drawing in a sharp breath. She stopped two feet or so away from Airelle. "Someone's been here," she said warily.

"You mean, the cabinet—"

"Yes," said Tracy, picking up the book Snape had been holding from a shelf. "It's been opened."

Alica looked around anxiously, then walked closer to her friend. "Well, at least now we know it's not a curse in there, just a few books."

"But why would they put such a lock on the stuff that even _we_ had given up on trying to pry it open?" whispered Tracy, leafing through the pages. She did not, thankfully, gasp at the writing or come upon the words 'Flight From Death.' Thankfully.

"Dunno," muttered Alica, looking over Tracy's shoulder (which was easy, since she was about two heads taller than the other). "But hey… d'you think they… could still be here?"

Tracy looked up quickly, and her dark eyes scanned the room, passing over Airelle and Snape effectively. "Don't be silly, they'd show themselves by now." But now she did not sound very certain.

"I wonder what this all means," said Alica curiously, but Tracy closed the cabinet door and glanced around some more.

"C'mon," she muttered nervously, "we'll look at this later. Right now, we'd better go back to bed. And maybe think of a new scheming base."

"Should we take some books with us?" offered Alica, but her friend shook her head.

"No, whoever came in here could miss it, and then we're going to be in more trouble than we like."

Grinning, Alica followed Tracy out the passage. Airelle almost exhaled, when suddenly, the two came back in.

"On second thought," Tracy was saying, eyes shining, "perhaps we do need to figure out what's so special about these books."

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" asked Alica as her friend removed a thin specimen of a book from the cabinet. "What if that thing's got a curse on it?"

"Don't worry, I'll sweep-check it for Dark Magic using that manual I bought in Diagon Alley."

"YOU BOUGHT IT?" Alica sounded indignant, and her bangs bounced on her head. "I thought we were SAVING our money for Hogsmeade!"

"Couldn't resist," laughed Tracy apologetically, and walked out the door, book under her arm. Alica's eyes went around the room again. She paused for a second, blinking in the direction of Airelle's face-- then shook her head, and followed her friend, leaving Airelle and Snape in a very bad mood.

"Are they crazy?" the Potions Master growled when the echoes of the two girls' footsteps had withdrawn. "Taking Voldemort's books is suicide." He had purpled with rage. "I'll take so many points off--"

"To follow now is too suspicious. We'll get it from them later," Airelle assured, wanting to get outside. The ghastly thickness of the room was making her feel light-headed and claustrophobic at the same time. Snape sensed it, and muttered, "Yes, we'd better leave before our beloved Dumbledore shows up."

For once, Airelle didn't complain, and they left. But that did not stop her from wondering just what those books had being doing in the cabinet in the first place. Dumbledore would leave them there for a good reason, she thought. Hopefully.

Airelle had never been in her friend's private quarters before, and was anxious to see what sort of charms and hex wards he had put on the entrance to block unwanted visitors. Or visitors in general, since Airelle guessed not many people would go in there of their own free will.

They stood in front of the entrance, Airelle shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She had recognized the residue of at least three charms on the door-handle. If she was not mistaken, one of them included the Expelliarmus Spell, intended to throw the person backwards if he or she rattled the knob. Of course, how could Severus Snape not put his favourite spell on the door to his bedroom…

_"Airelle?" Snape called from the far side of the room._

_ His friend turned around and pushed her headband back, which was sliding again. "Yes?"_

_ "Come here a second."_

_ She crossed her arms. "All right, if you plan to use me as another lab rat, I'm not going to--"_

_ Snape raised his wand. "Expelliarmus!" Airelle was lifted off her feet like a rocket and smacked into a wall that her friend had, apparently, protected with a Cushion Charm for the occasion._

_ "Holy smokes!" she coughed, staggering up and grinning like she'd seen the biggest ice-cream cone in her life. "What was THAT?!"_

_ Snape, looking very glad that she'd forgotten to yell at him, said, "It's a defense spell I've picked up from the books. Good for dueling and disarming."_

_ Airelle's eyes gleamed with pure joy. "Very well then, we shall have a fair deal."_

_ "What?"_

_ "You teach me how to do that, and I won't kill you for using it on me." _

Snape disarmed all the charms (there were twelve in total), and allowed his friend to enter the room first. She had expected a lavishly decorated chamber, with carved wall-figures, carpets, and the like…

It was a tiny little bedroom, equipped with the bare necessities-- a desk, a chair, a wardrobe, and a flat bed in the far corner. A single candle gleamed lonesomely on the desk, illuminating a stack of papers and a grimy shot-glass.

Airelle's shock was interrupted by the loud bang caused by Snape's shutting of the door. She turned toward the Potions Master, eyebrows suddenly furled.

His dark eyes bore into hers. "Disappointed?" he asked softly.

Airelle stared at him. Then at the little barren room. Then at him again.

"Of course not," she grinned. "I have not seen the whole thing yet. Best not to judge until you observe with your own eyes, after all. So, where's the real entrance?"

A smile flickered across his thin lips, and his eyes resumed their usual glitter. "You're good," he said slyly, but did not move an inch from his spot. Airelle, for her part, smiled widely back.

"No," she answered. "I just know your tastes too well. You cannot have changed that much since Graduation."

"That is frightening in itself," he replied. "Care to join me on the bed?"

However much she was unnerved by the question, Airelle did a good job in giving him a blank Auror-face. "Certainly."

He led her across the room, blowing out the candle as they passed the table. Thrown in complete darkness, Airelle felt odd. She still had not perfected her ability to see in the dark; Snape, she knew, could do it perfectly…

She heard his voice as they approached the bed. "Watch your foo—"

There was a thump. "Ouch!"

"Too late," mused Snape, guiding her as if she were blind, onto the covers. They were cold and uncomfortable; Airelle doubted that he'd ever used them.

Once certain that both were safely seated (with Airelle still rubbing the toe she'd bruised and fighting the urge to swear profusely as only an ex-Auror could), Snape asked, "So, what shall we do now?"

"I do not know," replied Airelle out of the darkness. "Although I must admit, this is the best opportunity to snog I've ever had."

Snape had lost his control, apparently, and emitted strange noises, as though he were trying hard not to laugh. "I am delighted you think that way," he choked, "but I'm afraid we did not extinguish the light for that purpose. Just watch."

"Believe me, I would, if I could see."

"Don't get smart," he chuckled sardonically. "It was a figurative statement."

Airelle did not reply as slowly, the wall behind them began to creak and rumble.

"Serpent wine," said Snape nonchalantly. The edge of the bed jumped sharply at the password, and the two toppled backwards into the gap that had opened between the stones.

The first words that came out of the Illusions professor's mouth when she had finally glanced up off the floor were: "Now _this _is more like it."

After careening down a dark dry tunnel for an agonizingly long thirty seconds, the sight before her was definitely worth it. A light green marble walkway, so clean it looked spit-shined, snaked through the low-ceilinged room and towards another, smaller door on the far side. The total space was about that of a good-sized backyard, around seventy-five by twenty feet. Other than the thin line of marble, the entire floor was covered with a meadow of hunter-green carpet, so thick a person's foot would sink in it up to the ankle. Magically lit torches illuminated silver-edged tapestries on the stone walls. Most depicted battles, and there was a giant one that had a winding serpent in coils, and sewn words: Ipsa Scientia Potestas Est—Knowledge Itself Is Power. It did not really fit the picture, but seeing that the serpent was often a symbol of wisdom, Airelle could guess where it came from. The aforementioned tapestry hung on the wall to their right, directly above a gigantic and dead fireplace, its edges supported by flying buttresses in the shapes of carved snakes. Typical.

"Incendio!" said Snape, brandishing his wand, and it roared to life, spewing forth spectacular bursts of flame, illuminating the room much better than the torches. Upon closer inspection, Airelle realized that the tips of each tongue of fire were speckled with a tinge of emerald green. Of course, what else could you expect from a Slytherin?

In front of the fireplace stood a single armchair, with a poker leaning against it… and beyond that… ah, the bed. Airelle had never seen anything even remotely like it. It was a four-poster, like hers, but how different! The wood was gleaming mahogany, (although somewhat charred with the years of use and existence next to a flame), and each of the four posts supporting the bed was engraved intricately with designs Airelle could not yet distinguish from where she stood. Heavy drapes, so green they looked almost black in the light, served as curtains and seemed to pile up in endless folds, held back with exquisite silver ropes that could be loosened to let the material down and around the bed. She could not see if anything was under it. All Airelle's eyes were able to get into view were several pillows in front of a dark headboard, and carefully placed green sheets. The light of the fireplace shone, danced, and reflected off them, and Airelle immediately guessed they were silk.

The left side of the room (from the marble path) was no less marvelous than the right. The walls there had fewer tapestries, but in the spaces between were hung various weapons, mostly old and rusty swords, crossed as it had been done in the old days of the knights. And the best thing of all was the instrument directly across from the fireplace—a Muggle instrument. It was a mini-organ, set right into the wall, complete with wind tubes, several rows of keys, and even a small rotating bench. It was nice to know even pure-blooded Slytherins appreciated Muggle work…

"Airelle, how long will it be until you close your mouth?" asked Snape, and there was amusement in his voice. "I am afraid you may start drooling inadvertently."

"Oh, right," she mumbled, grinning. "But you know," –and with this said, she stepped onto the marble walkway-- "you could always drop Potions and be an interior decorator. Because this--" She dropped her arms at her sides, unsure even where to take her next sentence. "This is…"

"Something no one but you, me, and Dumbledore have ever seen," finished Snape for her, motioning towards the fireplace and walking deeper into the room. His black robes seemed to swish in motion to the dance of the flame. He was really at home here, Airelle realized…

"You didn't just bring me here to help me with the Runespoor incident," she murmured, more to herself than to her friend. "You also invited me… into your home."

He turned around, and gave her an inscrutable look. "Perhaps," he said. "But it is only fair; you gave me invitation to your house so many times, and I never returned the favour."

Airelle did not know what to say to that, so she was silent, and shrugged. Snape looked at her for a while, then turned back in the direction of the bed.

"I remember making plans to have a room like this ever since I was young," he said. "My parents were rich, and would give me anything I wanted, but… I wished to earn these things myself. And I did." His arm swept in a gesture that circumvented most of the room. "This is all here because of my work. Splendid, isn't it?"

"Modest, aren't you?" laughed Airelle, walking down the marble path, her footsteps barely audible even with the silence in the room. "Gosh, someone's turning into Lockhart…"

"That is not funny," Snape growled, turning to her, but his eyes betrayed the smile that should have twisted his mouth upwards.

"I must say, though," said Airelle, shaking her head as if still making sure this was all real, "I just cannot believe… I knew your taste for the elegant was present, beneath your stark exterior… but I never thought it went this far. It's… magnificent."

"I do most of my thinking here, and most of my work upstairs," said Snape, obviously referring to the stacks of papers on the desk they'd seen earlier. "This is a different world, entirely. But I do keep some of my most dangerous and greatest potions in this room, which is why I brought you here to keep an eye on you. Now," he continued before Airelle could interrupt him with a question, "it is best we get started right away."

"As always, business first, Professor," grinned Airelle, crossing her arms and giving him an otherwise serious look.

Snape's smile was humorless this time, and he pointed towards the door on the other side of the room, slightly to the left of the bed. "While I check something, you must go and clean yourself before you drink anything I give you. I have added a potion to the bathwater that shall remove the traces of the Runespoor juice, which is now invisible to the human eye and very gummy, off you. You had some blood on yourself too, after you fell, so I suggest you clean it."

Airelle stared at him, as though she had not heard any part of the conversation but the word 'bathwater.'

"You… have a bath??"

Snape frowned. "Do you really think I'm THAT opposed to human hygiene?" he asked. "Now, get on with it."

And Airelle went on the marble path towards the little door alone.

To Be Continued…

A/N: Sorry if this is short… I promise the next one will be long. :) Don't you love Snape's bedroom? That's the type I'd love to have… (whispers) Snape included…wipes drool off keyboard


	13. Bathwater

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

A/N: Sorry if this took a while to post…and the next one will take time as well. I am very busy this summer-- job, volunteering, homework, working on original fiction AND fanfiction. Oyy….and I had four wisdom teeth pulled at once today (June 25) and I'm in pain. Eep-- STITCHES! ACK! Well, on the bright side… I finally discovered what it's like to be sedated! grin I _gotta _include that experience at one point in this chapter… watch for the words 'fuzzy colours' ;)

P.S. Yep, this is no coincidence. This chapter is named appropriately after the song "Bathwater," by my favourite band, No Doubt. :)

Chapter 13 Bathwater

Whatever Airelle Vilka may have expected when coming to her friend's quarters, taking a bath had definitely not been part of it. Nevertheless, leaving Snape behind, she made her way towards the door and turned the round wooden knob carefully.

It opened full swing, even though Airelle had only given it a slight push. She was immediately covered with an onslaught of steam, as if she'd been looking into a tea kettle. The initial hiss of air startled her so much that she stepped back.

"Go on, don't dawdle," said Snape's voice from somewhere behind her. It sounded vaguely annoyed. "The steam won't kill you."

Airelle snorted loudly on purpose and stepped inside, ducking to avoid hitting her head on the low frame. Once she did, the door swung closed on its own accord behind her. But she was too busy to notice, anyway.

She stood at the top of a small staircase, consisting of just three steps. From what she could tell by a cursory glance, this room had an even lower ceiling than the bedroom, and was about ten times smaller. It looked like it had been converted from a dungeon prison cell to its present form; the walls, at least what she could see of them, were dark and devoid of decorations. The steps were light green and marble, like the pathway in the bedroom, but beyond, the floor was made of huge square copper-coloured stones, fitted together as if they'd been puzzle pieces. About five feet from the steps was where Airelle's eyes rested at the moment.

It was a bath, of course, but nothing like she'd ever seen. It looked more like some sacrificial pool of the olden days. Triangular in shape, it took up most of the room, and was bordered on the edges by stones slightly smoother and lighter in colour than the surrounding floor. There were no faucets in sight; the obsidian black water was still and emitted steam like cooling soup. But it was the thing above the water that caused the Illusions professor to smile.

A chandelier-- a giant candelabrum, to be exact-- hung directly above the bath, illuminating only the black water and leaving the rest of the room drenched in the darkness. The reflection of the candles stood in the center of the liquid triangle, now and then undulating slightly with the water.

Slowly, Airelle descended the steps, Snape's long robe dragging behind her. She had not taken it off since their little trek through the corridors, and it was obstructing the use of her hands. Walking closer to the bath, she drew in a deep breath. At least one good thing came of that venture-- the water was definitely not stagnant, but fresh…. And yet, how could it be, if there were no passages to clean water, not even faucets, anywhere?

Airelle put her hands on her hips and looked around once more. There was nothing on the walls, not even a single torch, painting, or vanity mirror. That in itself made her suspicious, but she shook her head and decided, _Well, I suppose I'd better get started. No use standing here aimlessly._

Reaching up, long sleeves falling down her arms as she did, Airelle unclasped the top of Snape's robe and let it fall with a glide. This left her in a nightgown from the Hospital Wing that, in effect, showed off the fact that she was only slightly more than skin and bones. She had not been accustomed to eating much, and, though she was stronger than anyone gave her credit for, Airelle basically looked as if some of her students could beat her up easily. Glancing at the door again, and yawning inadvertently, the Illusions professor removed her headband and strap, loosening her hair, which began to gleam silver in the candlelight. Working mechanically, she scooped up Snape's robe, extricated her wand from it, and placed it at the edge of the bath. If there was anything she'd learned as an Auror, it was that there existed a thin line between caution and paranoia. Next, she took off her shoes and placed them on the edge, too. The floor was freezing beneath her naked feet, and she longed to go into the water, which was by now spouting a good deal of steam. Airelle was just about to put a foot into the bath when--

"Don't you think you ought to undress first, dearie?" came a voice directly out of the air, and Airelle's heart sank deep into her stomach. The ex-Auror did two things at once – jump in shock and grab her wand off the edge of the bath. She stared wildly around for the source of the voice, but saw nothing—only the dark stone walls.

"Well, unless you'd like to swim in your nightgown," said the voice again. Slowly, Airelle glanced up. The chandelier couldn't be talking-- could it?

"Forgive me if I frightened you," continued the speaker, and this time, Airelle was certain it was coming from the ceiling. Her eyes scanned the top of the hanging candelabrum and went wide.

How could she not have noticed it before? Unless Airelle was hallucinating, there was a painting… hanging precariously on the ceiling as if it were a wall, with the front pointing downwards. The picture was that of a full-figured, curvy woman in a green and black velvet dress, with gold-tinged skin and dark brown ringlets that hung off her shoulders. Leaning her elbows on the face of the painting as if it were a transparent floor, she stared down at Airelle pointedly.

"Almathea," she supplied when the startled professor did not find enough air in herself to speak. "I am the Keeper of this room."

"Oh," said Airelle calmly, for lack of a better sentence. The painting just kept looking her over.

"I cannot even remember the last time I've seen another woman face-to-face," muttered Almathea, brushing back her curls with a sweep of an elegant hand. "Perhaps two centuries… it was some Gryffindor girl, if I remember rightly. I am surprised she made her way down here, considering that only Slytherins usually get the dungeons. But you are not a Slytherin either," she added matter-of-factly. "Dear, dear, you must be close to my Master's heart indeed, for him to bring you here."

Airelle stared up at the woman, unsure which bothered her more – the fact that she'd called Snape 'Master' or that she said Airelle was close to his heart. The Illusions professor decided to take care of the easier one first.

"Your Master?" she asked, finally lowering her wand.

"Why, of course," said the painting. "Whoever owns the room is my Master, and the acceptor of my services. Some Keepers do not have one for centuries… they go mad," she uttered with a small but visible shudder. Blinking several times, Almathea waved her arms impatiently. "Now, come, come, you heard him – do not dawdle and take your bath."

Airelle, already slightly dizzy from keeping her head up at such an unnatural angle, lowered her eyes back to the water.

"Err… do you mind?" she asked, tugging at her nightgown slightly. Airelle was never comfortable with exposing more than was needed, not even in front of her female friends or fellow Aurors, let alone a strange picture.

"Oh, relax, will you?" laughed Almathea. "You are just like my Master. He was hesitant too… but believe me, after seeing him, I think I can take anything."

Airelle wanted to ask what that meant, but then wisely decided that she did not really wish to know.

_Oh, screw this all,_ she thought, and slipped off the rest of her garments, anxious to get into the steaming water. She hoped there would be no comment from overhead, but of course, Lady Luck had thrown in the towel concerning Airelle Vilka long ago.

"Rather pale, and slight of frame, are you?" declared the painting nonchalantly. "Do you eat at all?" She gestured to her own ample form and grinned. "Of course, judging by your edginess, it looks like you do not have much time to do anything in general, much less eat."

Airelle ignored the remark and stuck her foot into the water. It was a bad idea; it was freezing, even colder than the ambient air.

"Bloody heck!" Airelle yipped, jumping backwards. "This thing is letting off steam-- how can it be so cold?"

"Ah, the steam is just the after-effect of the potion that was put in here," said Almathea. "He told you about that, did he not?"

"Yes," replied Airelle, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering. "There are no hot water faucets or anything here; I am not surprised this bath is freezing…"

"Leave that to me," muttered the painting, and waved her hand slightly. The water hissed and boiled, and Airelle stared back up beyond the chandelier with a look of surprise on her face.

"How did you--"

"It is the Keeper's job, my dear, to meet the needs of my Master. I control this room entirely. He told me to make you comfortable, so I did. There are not many Keepers left in the castle," Almathea said sadly. "Most rooms, especially the baths, are controlled via pipes and such. I suppose they got rid of the Keepers because they were too much trouble. After all, we are immortal, and we cannot leave our frame as other paintings do. But the job has its privileges."

"How long have you been one?" asked Airelle curiously, now tipping her toe back into the bathwater and finding it warm.

Almathea stopped to think. "Hmm… more than a thousand years," she finally said. "I came here soon after the founding of the school. This room, in fact, is one of the oldest in the castle."

"Really?" said Airelle, slipping off the edge into the bath. It was glorious, but shallower than she'd expected; and Almathea seemed to have read her mind.

"Would you like that deeper, dear?" she asked, yawning. Airelle nodded, and with another wave, the water rose several inches up to the ex-Auror's shoulders. One more gesture, and large white bubbles began to blossom out of the bottom of the bath, swimming up to the surface and enveloping the whole area in a matter of minutes.

"Self-cleaning soap," said Almathea proudly. "Together with my Master's potion, it makes for one heck of a scrubbing."

Airelle grinned and, supporting her elbows on the edge of the bath, let her legs float up in front of her. The water felt strangely tingly; she supposed it was the potion.

"So, Almathea," she asked, feeling a tad more comfortable with the painting hanging above her, "did Snape-- I mean, your Master-- ever, erm, say anything about me?"

"As Keeper, anything spoken between me and my Master stays between us," said the painting seriously. "But he expected you to ask, so he allowed me to tell you some things… such as that I know of your long friendship with him."

"Uh-huh," muttered Airelle, dunking her head and running her hands through her drenched hair. When she looked back up, there was a small glass table next to the bath, complete with a hairbrush, a bottle of some clear liquid, and a dark green towel.

"Green seems to be the predominant color around here," she laughed, swimming in a backstroke towards another end of the triangle shape. Airelle could not remember the last time she felt peaceful enough to enjoy a bath like this. _Probably another effect of the potion, _she thought.

"It has been for ages," said Almathea from above her head. "And my Master is very proud of his House."

"Tell me about it," smirked Airelle. "Proud enough to bias himself as a teacher."

"Do you find that bad?"

"Not exactly… I understand where he is coming from," said Airelle, stroking her chin. "But I wouldn't mind to see him take some points from Slytherin one day."

"Ah," replied Almathea. "Perhaps he shall get his chance at the Yule Ball… after all, Slytherins are still teen-age students, and I bet they'll be doing some things they shouldn't--"

Airelle glanced up quickly, black eyes glinting. "How do you know about the Yule Ball? You said you couldn't leave your frame."

Almathea laughed. "You're a sharp one, aren't you? Well, my Master has spoken to me about it… and I can communicate with other paintings as well, vocally." She winked. "You humans are not the only ones who hear voices."

"I see," said Airelle. "Yes… the Yule Ball… I am a little nervous about that…"

"Why?" The painting looked incredulous.

"Did Snape ever tell you about the last Yule Ball we have ever witnessed?"

"Ah, well…" Almathea paused. "Yes, I believe he did. Something about a song…"

Airelle smiled. "Then you know that he is the last person to 'dance' with me. And now, we go again, but as teachers. It is like some strange sort of déjà vu."

"I do not see why you should worry, dear," said Almathea. "You two are still friends, are you not?"

"Well…yes."

"And you have proven your friendship even after such trying times… you should have no problem coming to some silly ball."

"I suppose you're right," Airelle sighed, giggling as a few of the soap bubbles scoured her feet. But how could Almathea know? Airelle supposed that what she was really afraid of was…well, something occurring. She cared for her friend immensely, but the last time, she had almost allowed her sense of friendship cloud her judgment. No one knew that she still woke up some nights, trembling at how close she'd come to joining Voldemort along with Snape. It sounded awfully cliché, but since then, Airelle had learned not to ever let anything hurt her. But now, with Snape back in her life, she was beginning to let her guard down again. What if she allowed something to happen, and regret it afterwards? It did not need to even go that far-- Snape did not even know just how much seeing him again meant to her. Airelle promised herself once that he'd never know. And with Voldemort back, and Snape a spy, Airelle could easily become a liability for her friend. And that was the last thing she wanted. So… what was she to do?

"Act like you did in your youth," Almathea said suddenly, snapping Airelle out of her daze and back into reality. For a second, Airelle thought the painting had heard her thoughts, but then realized it was just a coincidence. Apparently, she'd been talking about the Yule Ball all along.

"Come, come, dear, I am sure you'll be fine," continued the woman, hiccupping and smiling. "Now, I think you're squeaky clean, so grab that towel off the table, and get out of my bathtub."

Laughing, Airelle complied and, diving one more time, came up next to the edge of the bath. The copper stones gleamed as she splashed water onto them, climbing out easily and pausing to rest on the edge, her feet still in the bath. She stretched her arms in the air over her head, ignoring the rivulets of liquid that her dripping hair trailed uncomfortably down her back. If Almathea could make a table appear out of nowhere, she could probably clean the mess as well.

Bringing her hands down, Airelle moved her feet around in the water and watched the ripples distort her reflection in silence. She looked herself over, from her shins to her thin arms, complete with scars that she termed 'close calls' – curses that had singed her during her Auror days. No true fighter of physical Dark magic could say that he or she did not have any scars; no one was that lucky. One look at Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody gave ample proof of that. Which was why Airelle was so skeptical of Gilderoy Lockhart's praises of his own proficiency in combating the Dark Arts. After all, the man's face was flawless. Airelle bet that the only scars he had were those of paper cuts from endless hours of autographing fans' books and journals. She, on the other hand, had quite a few—mostly on her wand arm, and one on the left side of her lower lip, visible only if one looked closely. There were also some on her stomach and back, where she'd been whipped with some Stupefying Spells, Disarming Charms, and even the occasional Pain Curse. Nothing like Cruciatus, though; she hoped she would never experience any of the Unforgivables.

"What time is it?" she asked Almathea, looking back up.

"About two and a half hours past midnight," replied the painting. "Why, are you in a hurry?"

"Somewhat," Airelle laughed. "You see, I am not supposed to even be here. Snape sort of stole me from the Hospital Wing." As she remembered, Airelle grinned because the accident had been so stupid. To think-- burned by eggs, of all things. Her Auror colleagues would have a fit of laughter if they knew.

Almathea grinned down at Airelle. "I see… must have been quite a trip."

"Tell me about it," said the Illusions professor, remembering Voldemort's books and how she had to get one of them away from Alica and Tracy. It was foolish, perhaps, to let them leave, but then again, the notebook probably would not cause any harm to them in one night. She'd get it from them by tomorrow. And what was tomorrow anyway? Airelle suddenly discovered that she had no idea how long she'd lain unconscious…

"Almathea-- what day is it?"

"Thursday, December 16th," said Almathea, blinking and shrugging.

Airelle stared, horrified. The only sound in the room was the _drip, drip _of her hair leaking water on the stone. "But that means the Yule Ball is tomorrow!"

"That's right. You have been in the Hospital Wing for several days, my Master told me. He knew you'd be agitated when you found out."

"Oh, no… that means, I have class tomorrow… and then, then… the dance."

"Do not worry," said the painting in a motherly manner. "Dry yourself before you catch a cold. My Master would not like that, I fathom."

"Ohh… right," she said, pulling the green towel from the table and nearly sending the bottle next to it to the floor in the process. "Right," Airelle repeated, standing, wrapping the warm cloth around her stomach, and resigning herself to the process of drying. Her mind was elsewhere, of course. She had not even prepared her lessons, much less the dress robes…

_There you go, acting like a teenager again,_ said a voice in her head, chastising her to keep calm. _There is nothing to be nervous about. Go on with your life, will you?_

Airelle sighed and, moving the towel, began to dry her hair furiously. This was the last thing she needed to be thinking of right now. Those books of T.M. Riddle's were more important.

"Almathea," she began, "d'you think--"

The door opened with a creak, and in came a tall, thin, black-robed figure that could only be Severus Snape. Airelle fought the urge to gasp and immediately whisked the towel in front of herself, holding it like a shield and not even bothering to wrap it around her.

"Calm yourself," her friend said casually, standing next to the doorway and looking straight down at her from the steps. The light from outside fell on his black eyes, which were strangely glassy; and it was then that Airelle realized he'd put a temporary Blinding Charm on himself. Thoughtful.

"I merely wished to know if you are fine," he added, his hand still gripping the doorknob. "And to tell you to hurry. I have the potion ready."

"She is doing well, Master," said Almathea, bowing her head even though Snape could not see her.

"Err… yes," said Airelle, still holding the towel as though she did not trust the Blinding Charm. "Umm… nice bath you have here… a Keeper and all…"

"Thank you," Snape replied. "Almathea, kindly make sure Professor Vilka gets anything else she needs. And I brought a spare clean robe for her." He gestured towards his right arm, over which hung a black mass in folds.

"I will, Master," said the painting.

"Thank you," said Airelle, not knowing quite what to do. She looked at Almathea, who gave her a cryptic smile and pointed towards the doorway.

"Well?" asked the Potions professor, putting out his right arm into the room impatiently. "Do I have to stand here long?"

"Oh, right," murmured Airelle, ignoring her logic, which was laughing at how odd this scenario looked, and edging closer to the marble staircase, leaving the light of the chandelier behind. _After all, _said a voice in her head, _Snape cannot come to you, since he'd probably topple down the stairs in this state…_

Once closer, she shifted the towel and wrapped it loosely around herself. Holding it with one hand, Airelle reached out with the other and snatched the robe off Snape's arm. He retracted backwards; incidentally, so did Airelle, clutching the robe to herself as if it were her life's savings. Her hair was still semi-wet, and was plastered to her back; she wanted to pull it off, but did not dare move her hand away from the towel. She was paranoid even if front of her best friend—great, just great.

Snape turned and left without another word, the door shutting itself behind him. Airelle glanced towards the smoking bath, and then up at the ceiling. Almathea was still smiling.

"Oh, be quiet," Airelle snapped, but could not suppress a grin as she pulled on the robe and began to brush her hair a bit too vigorously.

She opened the door to the bath ten minutes later, after bidding a farewell to the painting. The sight before her had not changed, except that the fire was roaring larger than she'd remembered, and Snape was now seated in the single armchair in front of it. His eyes were half-closed, and his long fingers drummed on the poker he was holding. In his other hand was a small bottle with a red tinge. The potion, she guessed.

Airelle stepped forward and said, "I hope that did not take too long."

"It did not," he replied, his chin tilting up a bit. "Now, we shall begin?"

"All right," she agreed. "But may I see something first?"

"Depends on what you wish to see."

"That." She pointed towards the organ. The back of Snape's chair was now to her, and she had no idea how he knew what she'd been talking about. But nevertheless, he muttered, "Help yourself."

Nodding, Airelle took several tentative steps toward the instrument, momentarily forgetting all about the Yule Ball and Voldemort. It was even more beautiful up close. The wind tubes and their shutters were small, but, Airelle guessed, more than enough for this room. The sides, set halfway into the stone wall, were intricately carved with scenes from Greek mythology, with which Airelle had been fascinated even before she had found out she was a witch. She trailed her hand over the reliefs and recognized scenes from several famous myths – Pan, Apollo, Athena's flute…

Sitting down in the round chair, Airelle blew on the keys, but only small specs of dust flew up into the air. She swiveled back around, towards Snape's direction.

"You play." It was a statement, not a question.

She could almost imagine Snape's nod. His fingers kept drumming on the poker, gently. "Yes… this was brought here from an antique Muggle shop by magic," he said. "Despite what some purebloods say, Muggles have been able to create some fascinating things throughout the ages. This is one of them."

Airelle blinked, then turned back and played several chords from the Moonlight Sonata. The tubes choked out a small amount of dust, but otherwise, the sound was amazing. Even the tapestries shook slightly.

"Incredible," she whispered. Snape could play this all day, and even with this intensity of sound, no one would hear it because the room was so deep underground.

"Can you play Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor?" came Snape's voice from behind her. Airelle merely snorted with laughter.

"Hah… I wish. My two years of Muggle music school have not taught me _that_ much."

"Move," said Snape, and Airelle rose obligingly. He handed the bottle to her and she took it as her friend sat in her place.

"You cannot be serious," he said. "And _I_ am self-taught in this."

"All right, Mozart," she said sarcastically, standing next to him, "if you're so good, let's see you play it."

Snape had been waiting just for that. His fingers fell on the keys, and the sheer force of the music bombarded Airelle's eardrums. This was the way it was meant to be played; the piano, no matter how well it sounded, did not do the Toccata justice. Only an organ could transmit the power and magnificence of it. Airelle stared at her friend; she had no idea he could play so well. Then again, probably no one else did, anyway.

_You learn something new every day, _was the thought that passed through her mind as she watched him hit tough chords expertly, tactfully, as though he'd done it many times. Dumbledore had been right when he said that music was a magic greater than anything done by a wand.

Snape finished after a while, with a musical flourish, and the organ fell silent. Airelle said, "All you are missing with this instrument and the eerie music, and the room, is a _Phantom of the Opera_ mask."

Her friend stared at her. "The song in _Phantom of the Opera_ was 'Don Juan Triumphant,' not Bach's Toccata."

Now it was Airelle's turn to stare in surprise. "You have seen the musical?"

"I read the book," he replied slowly. "Gaston Leroux was a brilliant writer."

Airelle did not say anything, but was beginning to be more and more surprised at the extent of Snape's knowledge of Muggle art. Just how much did she truly know about him? When did he have time--

"Now," said the Potions Master, standing up and pushing the chair back to its previous position, "it's late, and we should start." Walking towards the bed, he motioned for Airelle to follow. She arched an eyebrow, but conceded in crossing over the marble path and joining him on the edge of the bed. Her hand felt the silk sheets. _Nice, _she thought. _I was right._

Snape pointed towards the bottle, which was still resting in Airelle's hand. "Drink that," he commanded. "It will make your body recover completely from anything the poison may have done to you."

Airelle looked sideways at him skeptically. "Why did you have to bring me all the way to your room just for this?"

He frowned. "I told you… so that I may keep watch over you in case something goes wrong. And the reason you are on the bed is because I would not want you to sleep on the floor-- it is rather cold, even with the carpet."

Airelle had the bottle close to her lips by now, and stopped. "Did you say 'sleep?'"

Snape nodded carefully, long black hair sweeping his shoulders as it always did. "Not for long, though, I think. You shall experience a semi-sleeping state. Hallucinations and such. It is an effect of the potion I could not rectify."

Airelle breathed out loudly through her nose. "All right, then. But are you certain all this is necessary? Was the poison that powerful?"

"I do not want to take any chances," said Snape. Airelle smiled, and he added quickly, "Undiluted venom of any sort is not something to gamble with."

"If you say so," grinned Airelle. "But if I begin to sleepwalk in the middle of my…ah, hallucination… do me a favor and smack me over the head."

Snape's smile was barely noticeable. "Trust me, I shall do my best."

A question suddenly forced its way into her head. "What _did _you do with that Runespoor, anyway?"

"I subdued it, brought you up to Madame Pomfrey – thank heavens she never asks too many questions – and later returned and sold it on the black market again. It brought me less than usual… one head was missing, after all."

Airelle laughed. "I imagine it did. No one said anything?"

"No," said Snape. "No one at Hogwarts. And as for the serpent, it is a common occurrence for the right head, the cynical one, to be bitten off by the other two."

"Ah… I see. Now…how do the Americans say it again?" asked Airelle, bringing the red liquid closer to her. "Bottoms up?"

Snape paused. "I think so."

"Ah, whatever," she laughed, and tipped the potion into her mouth. And without a single change of expression, Airelle toppled backwards onto the silk sheets that she did not feel anymore.

_So many fuzzy colours… she was flying through a maze of colored walls. Back and forth, she tried to memorize the labyrinthine twists and turns, but it was no use. Shapes formed and dissolved before her eyes, and pulsated in the atmosphere—black, purple, pink, green, blue, yellow… It was a euphoric sort of feeling, and yet she was aware that it was not real. Somehow, her arms were stretched out as if she were a bird and soaring above everything-- there was nothing but the endless surges of colour, exploding in front of her face. Turn, and turn again… then, a dead end, and she went backwards, and kept going a different direction… There was light everywhere, blurry, magma-type light throwing itself at her face, and playing with her eyes. Airelle felt strangely dizzy… and then--_

Her eyes slowly opened, lids fluttering as if she were some odd-looking Sleeping Beauty. But the fluttering eyelids were not to entice any rosy-cheeked prince. Not that she ever actually wanted to entice a rosy-cheeked prince, but that was beside the point. The fact of the matter was that her eyelashes slowly rose over her pupils. Airelle's vision was still rather blurry, but faintly, she could discern a canopy-- it did not look familiar, and only her sudden recognition of her midnight adventures with Snape stopped her from bolting up directly from the bed. She wiggled her fingers to make sure they were working; and after ascertaining the presence of a tingle in them and the rest of her limbs, Airelle blinked several times and rubbed her temples. Her hair was already completely dry, even though she had lain on it. So, how long did her little hallucination last? -- it had seemed like a mere fifteen minutes--

"I was wondering when you'd finally awaken," came a soft voice from her left. Airelle turned her head, and picked out the sharp, angular features of her friend from among the shadowy curtains. His dark eyes glittered more than usual; or perhaps it was just the after-effects of Airelle's sleep?

"Do not lift your head," Snape warned, anticipating her next move. "You shall probably fall if you attempt to rise non-gradually. Just be still for now, until you conserve your strength."

"How long have I been out this time?" she said hoarsely.

Snape blinked. "Longer than I expected. Three hours."

"THREE?" she breathed. "You mean, it is five-thirty in the morning already?"

He nodded, smiling grimly. "We need to return to the Hospital Wing before they discover your absence."

Airelle tried to sit up, but found that she still could not focus, and splattered back onto the bed. It was then that Airelle realized she was no longer in Snape's spare robe, but only in the nightgown she'd worn under it after her bath. Also, she was lying on the pillows, and the sheets covered her up to the waist. A smile came to her face as she thought of how uncomfortable her friend must have felt when he was preparing her for bed… Oh, if only his Slytherin students could see him then-- Severus Snape, the dreaded Potions professor, sitting at a bedside, wrapping a sleeping woman in his own bed covers, careful not to shift that flimsy Hospital Wing nightgown… Airelle choked on her own laughter despite herself, and said, "So did _you_ sleep at all?"

Snape shook his head. "You had several complications during your recovery. I had to keep you safe."

"What, did I sleepwalk?" she asked, looking up at her friend with a twinkle in her eyes.

"No, but you thrashed about half-crazed, uttering strange phrases."

"Ouch. What did I say?"

"It does not matter," muttered Snape. "What does matter is that we need to get you out of here, now."

"Yes," Airelle agreed. "And you look like you need some sleep. After all, lessons this afternoon… and later tonight, the Yule Ball…"

"I know," he said. "Can you stand now?"

"Let us see," she said, and sat upright slowly, bare feet hanging off the edge of the left side of the bed. Snape watched Airelle as she rose, leaning on one of the bed-posts, and let go.

"As much as I hate leaving this, ahem, very nice room," she murmured, following Snape back towards the passage, the flame in the fireplace now crackling itself dead behind them, "I do not want Madame Pomfrey sending out a search party for me, either…"

The sun had not even risen yet by the time Airelle and Snape stood cautiously in the Hospital Wing, in front of the door to the room they had exited hours ago. Airelle peered inside through a crack. Nothing; complete silence. Madame Pomfrey was probably still in bed.

"I suppose you should go back to the dungeons now and get at least two hours of sleep before breakfast," she said quietly to her friend.

"Yes," Snape replied shortly, perusing her with his bottomless gaze.

"Eh, right…" she said. "Oh, and…"

"What?" he asked curiously.

"Thank you for what you did tonight," Airelle declared earnestly, looking up at him. "After all, I doubt you've ever played Bach's Toccata for anyone else."

"Don't get cocky, Vilka," Snape muttered, but there was a smile in his eyes. "Just go in before someone sees you."

"Yes, Professor," she grinned, and, leaving Snape shaking his head ominously in her wake, Airelle opened the door.

And came face to face with Albus Dumbledore.

"Ah," he said with a smile as both professors' faces dropped in shock, "I see you have finally decided to re-join us."

To Be Continued…

A/N: Yay! Finally, a long chapter! Wait till you see the next one! :) Ouchie… my teeth… sniff Or, rather, my lack of teeth… :) Oh, by the way, twenty points to the house of anyone who tells me where I got Almathea's name from.


	14. Dress Robes Required

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

A/N Rant: Oh, my teeth, my poor wisdom teeth… hmm, now that I've gotten all of them out, I don't have any more wisdom… :) Arrgh, I hate maxillofacial oral surgery. God, to everyone who's been through this… you all deserve Purple Hearts. Now _you_ people are heroes. winces Owie… I need a hug. hugs computer screen Ah, that's the cold I need to reduce swelling. Eek--ah, my cheeks! I look like a chipmunk on drugs! laughs madly, then runs away yelling about teeth and J.K. Rowling, who is in no way connected to the authoress's tooth problem (Gosh, what a great way to start off summer vacation, lying on a couch with a laptop burning my legs b/c it's been on for hours, amidst paper towels, drinks, CDs, pencils, notes, ice packs, napkins, and painkillers… It is my dream vacation, actually, except for the ice packs and painkillers part. :))

Another Author's Note: The Second Harry Potter trailer is here! You guys have to see it! () Oh, dear, Snape looks amazing… and his voice is so… collapses into a fit of convulsive drooling

Chapter 14 Dress Robes Required

Albus Dumbledore put a finger to his lips when Airelle's mouth opened to give some simulation of an excuse. "Shh," he whispered, blue eyes twinkling. "You wouldn't want to wake Madame Pomfrey, would you?"

Airelle gaped at the Headmaster, as if still not certain he was actually standing in front of her. So, to save time, she just shook her head in a 'no' gesture.

Snape, however, had a talent for recovering quickly in awkward situations. "Headmaster, I did not expect to find you here so early. I was helping Professor Vilka return to the Hospital Wing," he said smoothly. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Airelle had to admit that her friend did not actually lie. After all, he _was_ helping her return to the dormitory. He had, incidentally, also taken her out of there, but that was not mentioned.

"I have no doubt of it," said Dumbledore, the smile not fading under his white beard. "Now, Airelle, I came here so early merely to see how you were getting on. Minerva told me you were still unconscious yesterday."

"Well, I was…" stammered Airelle, shifting around in the doorway with Snape a foot behind her, "but then, as you see, I awakened, and sort of wandered around the castle until Professor Snape here kindly directed me back." Of course, that whole bit was true as well. It all depended on how one looked at it.

"I see," said Dumbledore, gaze shifting from Airelle (who looked thankful) to Snape, who stood outside in the hallway, black eyes glittering. "So, I trust that both you and Airelle are attending the Yule Ball tonight?"

Snape looked startled by the question, but replied, "Of course."

Airelle nodded. "I believe I feel well enough now."

"Excellent," said the elder wizard, glancing at each of them in turn. "But Airelle, you did not tell me whom you were going to monitor."

"Ah…" she muttered, and decided not to look backwards at Snape. "Umm… outdoors."

"Very good, I shall write that down," said Dumbledore with a smile. "Now, before Madame Pomfrey bustles in and chastises you for being out of bed--" – his blue eyes bore effortlessly into Airelle's black ones – "you had better lie down. And you, Severus…"

"Yes, Headmaster?" asked Snape. His face, Airelle couldn't help noticing, had turned slightly livid.

"It is a big day today… the last before the Christmas holidays. So, I suggest you go and sleep a little," laughed Dumbledore. "You need it."

"As you wish," the Potions Master replied, and, casting one brief look at Airelle, swept out of her line of vision, followed shortly by Dumbledore, who closed the door with another enigmatic smile in her direction. Sighing in exasperation, the Illusions professor crawled into the cold bed she'd left behind that night, wondering three things—if this was all a dream, how she was going to get dress robes for the ball, and whether she should give homework over the holidays. As she fell asleep, Airelle only figured out the answer to the third one—she was too tired to give homework.

She was greeted with an enthusiastic warmth at breakfast that day, despite the fact that she looked half-dead from interrupted sleep and kept muttering to herself about coloured walls and Johann Sebastian Bach. Hagrid offered her some alcoholic drink that, though Airelle was initially hesitant to take it in the morning, perked her up as no Caffi-Pills could. Snape finally came in with the first of the students, and judging by the look on his face, Airelle doubted that he'd had any more sleep whatsoever.

She slid onto the very edge of her chair and poked absently at her rice pudding. All the teachers around her, it seemed, were very excited about the early start of the Christmas Break, and were chatting eagerly. It was her turn to speak when Remus Lupin addressed her.

"Why so glum, Airelle?" he asked, downing a glass of juice in one gulp. He was looking healthier, Airelle noticed; the full moon had passed, and there would not be another one for weeks.

"Glum?" she laughed, though it came out as more of a morose cough. "I most certainly am not. Just thinking about the Yule Ball and… and the past…" Her voice had dropped at that point.

Lupin smiled. "Ah, yes, I remember; those were the days. Quite a spectacle, those feasts were, in our student years."

Airelle smiled wanly back. "Indeed. And now, we are stuck with having to keep an eye on the students."

"Don't worry, they'll be fine," said the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor warmly. "Oh, by the way, is Severus coming tonight?"

Airelle looked up quickly from her plate. "How should I know?"

Lupin looked affronted. "Well," he said, "you are close friends, are you not?"

"Err… of course, but that does not mean--" She paused. "Yes, I believe he shall be attending. How can he not? … All the faculty must be present."

"Not necessarily," said Lupin, but even he did not look like he believed it. "But in any case, how are your classes going?"

"Very well," she replied, smiling. "Moving at a good pace. Have to get a good deal in today… the last class until January. What about you?"

"Fantastic."

"Great," she answered, not knowing what else to say. Her mind was in a very different place, wandering somewhere near the enchanted ceiling. Soon, tonight, it would be inky black and littered with stars…

Twelve hours had passed like minutes. Before Airelle knew it, seven-thirty in the morning turned to seven-thirty at night. The Yule Ball was in a half hour, and she was still not ready. Seven thirty-five found her in front of the mirror in her room, brushing her hair via a Reglia spell and putting on her dress at the same time.

"Dress robes are required for everyone; no exceptions," the notice on the wall had said. So, why was Airelle donning a dress, and a Muggle dress, of all things? She had bought it in a shop during the summer, and was glad to see that it still fit. It was plain black, sleeveless, fitting, and reached to her heels, but the neat thing about it was that it came slightly off her shoulders and practically had no back. Several straps of transparent, blue (why not? - she was a Ravenclaw, after all) material reached around the top hem of the dress, dropping sharply in folds to the small of her back, and served as the only decoration. She wore no make-up and no jewelry, save for small hanging earrings and her signature headband with the oval blue stone. A swish, and her hair was pulled into a high bun, several wisps of flyaway hair tickling her spine. She grinned and allowed herself a half-turn in front of the looking-glass, admiring the way the dress moved with her. The last time she had dressed up was during her Auror days, for a Ministry evening. It had been amazing, to see some of her colleagues swap their usual grimy work standards for multi-colored dress robes. Her friend and fellow Auror, Omar Fauks, true to his rich African heritage, had donned amazingly printed robes of magnificent reds and yellows that still stood out in her mind like vivid flashes of light…

She sighed and brushed a loose strand of hair back from her shoulders. Spotless. But, Airelle did not expect the prim look to last for even five minutes. The reason was, of course, that she was not planning to enter the Great Hall looking like this. As much as she wanted to wear the dress, the parchment said, "Dress robes." So, Airelle Vilka rubbed her hands together and said, "Accio Robes!"

Her usual teacher's robe, spiked up with shimmering blue hems, soared to Airelle's hand and she threw it on semi-haphazardly. This was what everyone was going to see. But underneath the dress robe—_that_ dress was reserved for a certain professor…

Airelle grinned like a little girl. Snape was going to have a fit of hysterics when he'd see her wearing anything showing skin. It was too bad Muggle devices like cameras did not work in the vicinity of Hogwarts. Otherwise, she'd have tons of fun rewinding her friend's reaction over and over…

She smiled again, partly at herself for being this immature and partly with anticipation of the dance. What was that Almathea had said? _Act like you did in your youth? _Well, this sounded like something she'd definitely undertake if she were a teenager again. Only this time, even if she were caught, Airelle could not get detention. Neat. Ah, being a teacher had its advantages.

Fastening the robe, she checked herself once again in the mirror. Nothing showing… only the folds of the long robe, which were bulging slightly because of the dress under it. Airelle straightened her collar and narrowed her black eyes at her reflection.

"Aren't we a regular Miss Wizarding World," she announced to herself with a sarcastic laugh. But she could not help being pleased. _I wonder what Snape will look like--_

"Snape?" she said aloud as a little bell, bewitched with an Alarm Spell, rang wildly on her bedside table. "Oh, no, I'm late, again!" Promising to shout at herself mentally later, Airelle stuffed her wand inside her robes and headed out towards the Great Hall, not paying attention to the occasional students who passed by and stood gazing after her.

"Psst! Is that Professor Vilka?"

"She looks so…different."

"Maybe it's the hair."

"Nope… she just looks… crafty."

"She looks pretty."

"Isn't she in her mid-thirties?"

"Boy, that's a long shot even for you, Casanova."

"Shaddup, will you?"

"She can't hear us."

"How do you know?"

"I think she's scheming."

"I still think it's the hair."

Those were only some of the whispered comments that followed Airelle as she walked down the hallways of the castle. It was truly amazing. Could the students actually notice things adults didn't, or did they just see it because she shared some sort of kinship with them? Perhaps. In a way, Airelle often felt like she never grew up. Although, that was not always for the best. She was like a child, but a child who'd seen the monsters under the bed face-to-face…

She pushed a side door open and entered the Great Hall, tangling herself rather effectively in a low-hanging tapestry, encrusted with holly, along the way. The ball had not begun as of yet; students were still coming through the doors, chatting and settling themselves at one of a hundred or so tables that had replaced the House Tables along the walls. Everything looked magnificent, with candles floating in the air (a few were even twirling, their twinkling lights doing a musical number), and mistletoe decorating everything that stood still. Among the sea of faces and robes, she recognized Harry Potter and his best friend Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Lavender Brown (who was, incidentally, wearing lavender robes), and many others. Airelle strained her eyesight to look for Neville, Alica, or Tracy, but they were not there. Shrugging, she made her way towards the top table, where she was greeted with a hearty guffaw from Rubeus Hagrid.

"Airelle! How are yeh?" he boomed, saluting her with a jug of eggnog the size of a bucket. "Good thing the holidays start early. I reckon yeh couldn' stand one more day of them students, could yeh?"

Airelle stared at him in shock, and Hagrid laughed. "Jus' joking," he grinned. "Come, have a seat, we were just about to start eatin'…"

Snape was already there, and greeted Airelle with a small nod as she sat down next to Lupin's chair, which was empty. He couldn't be sick again with his 'problem,' could he?

"Say, Professor Flitwick?" asked Airelle, and the tiny wizard turned around, nearly falling off the pillows that were piled up onto his chair in order to make him reach the top of the table.

"Yes, Airelle?" he squeaked.

"Where's Remus?"

"Ah," said Flitwick, "he's with his new aide… Delilah, I think her name is." Flitwick pointed to another corner of the room, where Airelle could pick out the tall figure of the professor talking animatedly with a young woman in purple robes and long, flowing black hair.

_Since when did Loopy need a teacher's aide? _thought Airelle, but then decided to leave the matter alone. As long as he was not running around howling, Airelle felt safe. Besides, there were more important things to worry about…

Snape sat at the other end of the table, looking sour and unpleasant as usual, and only barely responding to Hagrid's questions (which were now accompanied by hiccups). His obsidian black hair was slicked back in a way that reminded Airelle of the Yule Ball in their seventh year. She had put tons and tons of magical gel into it with her own hands, and promptly wiped them on Snape's favourite school robes afterwards. He would have killed her if it weren't for the fact that she'd gotten him the Eola Jedkins date he wanted. Sad, eh?

Airelle grinned and tore her gaze away from her friend. Some of the students were already leaving the dance floor and going outdoors. _Snogging time, _thought Airelle, and snorted with laughter into her wineglass.

"Is there a problem, Airelle?" called Dumbledore's voice from her right, and she looked up as another waltz began to play in the air. She coughed and answered, "No, not at all." _I have to get out of here, before some poor soul asks me to dance, or something…_

"Good," said the wizard, smiling. "Because someone is here to see you."

Airelle's eyebrows arched. Would Snape actually talk to her once in this whole awkward night?

"I…" she began, looking up hopefully. And then, her face promptly contorted into an expression of terror not even Voldemort could instigate.

"Oh… no…" she breathed. "Not you…"

Gilderoy Lockhart was strolling buoyantly across the dance floor to the tune of the waltz, with a floating parchment following him, waving madly at the professor as though his hand would fall off. Most of the students had already spotted him and wisely moved away as far as possible. Lockhart, however, seemed to not have noticed, and continued prancing merrily along, pastel blue wizard's hat lopsided slightly on his wavy blonde hair. Airelle looked around for some help, but found none; Minerva McGonagall looked like she wanted to run, a bright-eyed Trelawney was saying to Hagrid, "I knew it!", and Dumbledore—well, Dumbledore always looked pleasant. Snape, Airelle was glad to see, was looking murderous.

"Ah, we meet again," said Lockhart cheerfully, strutting over to the Teachers' Table like a giant blue peacock and waving his quill sneakily at Airelle. "What a coincidence. I am covering this year's Yule Ball for a special assignment of the Daily Prophet, and look whom I run into! The very woman I need!"

_I'd like to kill whoever let this arrogant prick in here,_ thought Airelle hotly. Outside, her face smiled at the reporter blandly. "Hello, Mister Lockhart."

"Yes, this is quite a sight, isn't it," muttered Lockhart, not returning the greeting and waving enthusiastically at Dumbledore and the other professors, who looked revolted. "A splendid idea, this Yule Ball; we should have had it when I was here. I bet I could have spruced it up a little!" He winked, and Airelle wanted to bury her head in the ground like a scared ostrich.

"By the way, Headmaster Dumbledore," smiled Lockhart, "thank you ever so much for inviting me to this wonderful event and giving me a chance to speak with Ms. Vilka here."

Airelle gaped at the elder wizard. _He _invited Lockhart? Oh, no…

"Make yourself comfortable, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore genially, pulling up a chair with a wave of his wand. "I am certain Airelle will be delighted to speak with you."

Meanwhile, Airelle's mouth was opening and closing wordlessly in shock. _I think he flipped his lid, _she said to herself, staring at the Headmaster. Her eyes flew to Snape's chair, but he had disappeared. _Great, and left me alone with this babbling idiot. I'm going to choke the life out of him…_

"So, Ms. Vilka," said Lockhart, sitting right next to her and looking her right in the face, "or may I call you Airelle?" Another wink. _I swear, if that man winks one more time…_

"It's Professor Vilka," she stated coldly, seeing there was no way out and resigning herself to a complete waste of time.

"Very good then, Airelle," chipped the reporter jovially, and Airelle shook her head. What did the Daily Prophet pay him for, distortion of words? "Now," he said, "we left off on your life as a Professor. It was a shame, really, that your unmannered colleague stole your chance at fame."

_Just smile and nod, _thought Airelle. _Punching reporters is not going to get you anywhere._

"So, what subject do you teach?"

"Illusions."

"Ah," said Lockhart knowingly, and tapped his nose. "You know, off the record," (his voice dropped) "I do not wish to brag about all my accomplishments, but I am quite an Illusions expert… so, if you like, I'd be glad to give you some pointers." Another wink.

"Ahem… I'll keep that in mind," Airelle reassured him with a gentle smile that very much contradicted her clenched fists. _Illusions expert, my bum._

"Of course you will," beamed Lockhart. "Now, back to our conversation. What was it like adjusting to a professor's career after twenty years of being an Auror? Did you find it hard having to use your wits more than your wand?"

Airelle stared at him, but her scathing reply was thankfully interrupted.

"Funny you should ask, Lockhart," said Snape's icy voice from behind the table, "since you rarely use either of the two."

"I beg your pardon?" asked the reporter, turning his head as though Snape had slapped him in the face and challenged him to a wizard's duel.

Snape's gaze was unrelenting. "I merely wish to borrow Professor Vilka for a dance," he said, tone not changing even when Airelle's eyes widened. "She looks terribly morose sitting there without good company."

"Now, see here, Snape!" said Lockhart indignantly, rising off his chair. Thankfully, his voice was drowned out from the rest of the Great Hall by the music. "You have no right to interfere with my story. Can't you see that Airelle is enthralled by our conversation?"

"Are you now on a first-name basis?" he sneered, then reached a hand out to his stunned friend.

Lockhart wouldn't give up. "I happen to think--"

"My, I did not know you could do that," snapped the Potions Master, and drew Airelle away from her chair and towards the dance floor. Lockhart began to follow, but then was engaged into a chat with a misty-eyed Professor Trelawney, who offered him a glass of wine.

"Relax," said Snape softly as Airelle finally got her senses back and tried to look over her shoulder at what Lockhart was doing. "We cannot go outside just yet without him following, and thank Merlin he's not vain enough to dance with himself. So, our safety ring is the dance floor."

"Wha—did you even consider the consequences of this?" she hissed as the soft _Andante _melody of Bach's Brandenburg Concerto No. 2 began to float through the air. The students were now pointing and whispering; Airelle pointedly ignored them.

"Why do you think I left?" he hissed back as they got to a corner of the floor farthest away from Lockhart. "Unless you wanted me to come up with a bright idea in the two seconds that he got you rooted to your seat with his gibberish. This was the only thing I could think of."

Airelle stopped frowning. "This is way more than what I expected," she grinned up at him in the torchlight. "You hardly get up at balls, I hear, much less actually dance. People will be talking."

"I thought that was more up your alley – worrying about what others will think," he murmured.

"Not usually," she said indignantly as they took another step together. "But you don't have a very romantic reputation here."

A smile crossed his face. "Excellent. That should confuse everyone thoroughly. And besides… as soon as the song is over, we shall excuse ourselves. It is late, and the teachers who signed the list should be outdoors."

"Sounds good," Airelle laughed. "But, listen… while the song's playing, I should warn you…"

"What?" asked Snape. She looked up at him again, and his eyes glittered much like they had in their seventh-year Yule Ball… in the snowstorm. Airelle sighed. He looked so young sometimes; she almost could believe they were still students. Then again, maybe it was just the light. Just the light.

She grinned again. "I cannot dance for my life."

He stared at her.

"What?" asked Airelle. "It's not exactly an Auror's main pastime."

"You seem to be doing fine," he said slowly, and it was then Airelle realized…

They were dancing. Basically in one place, in that dark corner… but they were still dancing.

"Hah!" she said triumphantly, looking at her feet. "I _am_ dancing!" And of course, immediately, she broke the rhythm and stepped on Snape's shoe. He winced.

"You're heavy."

She glared up at him. "Well, not THAT hea—"

"I was joking," he said tactfully.

"Oh. Right."

"In order to avoid stepping on me every time you place a foot on the floor," he said (there was that teacher voice again) "you must look me in the eyes."

She stared up at him in surprise. "Eh?"

"That's much better," he said. "Anticipate my moves."

"Hmm…" she murmured, smiling thoughtfully, "they teach us the same thing as Aurors. Anticipate your opponent's moves."

"This time, though," said Snape, coughing, "I'm not your opponent, but your partner. I don't even know why I'm bothering with this-- but," he continued after a pause, "you, as the female, must follow my lead."

Airelle knew that already, but put on a face anyway. "Excuse me? Since when did the male always get to do the leading?"

"Airelle…" He was annoyed, and she knew it. "Stop complaining. We are not in a contest of sexes--"

"Quiet!" She smacked him because some students nearby had jolted out of their seats at this. "Don't say anything even _remotely _similar to that word in here! We are dealing with jittery teenagers, after all," she added brightly.

Snape looked truly horrified for the first time in a while, and muttered, "Just be quiet and let us do this in a civilized way."

"All right, Professor," she sniggered childishly. By this time, another song by Bach began to play: the _Adagio _part of the Violin Concerto in E Major. Was it Airelle, or was Bach very popular at Hogwarts?

"I thought we were leaving after the first song," she said, and Snape looked her in the face. He seemed to be out of ideas.

"I did not speak to you about all this dancing for nothing," he muttered. "So, one song to see what you've learned before Lockhart comes over here and asks you for a dance."

Airelle cringed. "Very well…" She smiled. _How many ladies has Snape danced with, I wonder?_ Why she was asking herself the question was completely beyond her mental prowess.

"Now," he said, "in order for one of us to lead, we must be closer." He pulled her to himself matter-of-factly. Airelle did not dare look at what people around them were doing. She could only hear merry chatter, and kept her eyes focused on Snape's as he inched a long, black-sleeved arm around her waist. His fingers pressed softly against the robe, and the dress, which had become rather bulky.

"What on earth are you wearing under there?" he asked incredulously.

Airelle grinned. "Was that meant to be a suggestive question?"

Snape looked insulted. "No, just mild curiosity."

"I was the one joking this time," she laughed.

"Just dance, will you?" He took her right hand in his left and his gaze settled in hers.

"I can't," she choked with mirth, looking up at him. "It is just too funny for words. The dreaded Potions professor, slow dancing, with me. Oh, oh," (and she emitted a mock gasp at this) "it is too much for my weak heart."

"Be quiet," snapped Snape, but his eyes gave away the humor. The song kept playing, and they spun silently. Airelle was now facing the doorway, and watched students walk in and out over Snape's shoulder. One of them was Draco Malfoy, who gave her an odd stare before departing with Pansy Parkinson hanging on his arm. Another, shortly afterwards, was none other than Harry Potter, who was probably going up to the Gryffindor common room. He gawked at her and Snape for a couple of moments, then decided to leave quickly. Airelle winced. Well, if Potter was stupid enough to hate her because of Snape, it was not her problem.

_See? _said a voice in her head victoriously. _You're already becoming what you wanted. Uncaring._

_ Oh, shut up,_ she said to herself viciously. _It's not uncaring. It is indifferent._

_ Is that any better? _asked the voice, but Airelle blocked it. All she was thinking of now was the graceful sweeping movements their robes made on the floor. If Snape was enjoying the music as much as she was, he did not show it. He might as well have walked away at once without explaining himself, and think it was normal. _How do I put up with him? _Airelle asked herself, and grinned.

Her friend's eyes caught hers again; she nearly gasped. They were reflecting the bewitched ceiling and the stars that glittered in it. How could she see the magic swirling in them, be amazed by it, and yet know that not everything she was looking at was real? For once, Airelle wanted to see what Snape felt in those eyes, as if they were glass windows. Why did he have to be so much like her, covering his emotions? But she could not blame him any more than herself. Both of them, especially Snape, had seen terrible things in their lives, things that others probably did not want to know about. In the end, she guessed it was no surprise that both of them were so reserved. No one who had not experienced what they did could say that he or she knew what it felt like. When together, their shared past (and even their different paths) was what allowed Airelle and Snape to act the way they did.

She smiled at him; the song had finished. "As good as you are as a dancer, Snape--" she began in a business-like manner, "we must get ourselves out of here before Lockhart decides to 'find' me again."

"Very well," he said calmly, and they made their way towards the door. This was rather easy, since most students chose to avoid Snape at all costs and cleared a path for him relatively quickly. Before leaving, Airelle glanced up to the Teachers' Table. Lockhart was regaling a troop of sour-looking professors with some story, his floating parchment bouncing up and down, and Dumbledore had pulled McGonagall away for a dance. As she watched them, Airelle wondered, in passing, what on earth had possessed Dumbledore to invite Lockhart in the first place. Then, she turned with a shrug and followed Snape out into the entrance hall.

It was a clear and crisp December night, and Christmas rung in the air, with its fervor and anticipation. The night shone with a beauty that surpassed anything in the Great Hall. Airelle and Snape walked side by side around the castle grounds, wands at their hips. A blanket of snow had fallen, and given the bushes fuzzy white coats. The rose garden in front of Hogwarts looked amazing; even the stone statues on the winding, twisting paths seemed to come alive in the deceptive moonlight. The music had faded from their ears now, and there was silence, save for the sharp thunks created by their feet on the path. Here and there, Airelle could see carved benches. And then, new sounds approached her eardrums—the lapping of water (there was a fountain close by), several pairs of footsteps far ahead, and…rustling of leaves?

There was only so much she could do to keep from laughing as Snape swept forward and to the right in the direction of a large bush. There was no problem, except for the fact that the bush was moving. _Time to do our job, _thought Airelle as her friend lifted his wand and blasted the bush halfway into pieces, sending frozen rose petals flying everywhere. When a great deal of smoke had cleared, Snape snarled, "Remington! I am surprised at you…"

_Aha, _thought Airelle with a smirk. _Looks like we caught a Slytherin._

The fourth-year boy looked terrified, though not nearly as much as the girl who emerged in his wake and stared at Airelle like she was begging for dear life. She was a Ravenclaw.

"Shame on you," added Airelle, though she was actually sorry for having interrupted. "Five points from both Ravenclaw and Slytherin."

The two ran like fowls on fire, leaving Snape shaking his head and muttering, "Insolence, that's what it is…"

"Cheer up," said Airelle kindly, catching up to him on the path as they headed towards the fountain. "After all, it is a ball."

Snape's reply consisted of a sour look, and another bang as he detonated one more bush and sent two more squealing teenagers tearing away from them onto another meandering path. They were both Hufflepuffs. Airelle smirked after them. _To be caught snogging by Snape, _she thought with a sigh. _Now that really deserves pity._

The two shifted direction sharply, and walked through a semi-maze consisting of tall evergreen hedges, white on the top with snow and dark emerald on the sides. With yet another huge smile, Airelle remembered how they'd 'caught' a certain couple not far from this very spot…

_ "I swear, Snape, you get us into the most awkward situations imaginable," muttered Airelle darkly, brushing leaves out of her hair and glaring down at her friend, who was looking around cautiously._

_ "Just jump already, before someone wonders what you're doing on top of a fence," he snapped. "There is no other way to get around if we plan to get to the Forbidden Forest."_

_ "Why couldn't we have taken the longer route by the lake?" she asked._

_ "And have the whole school see us strolling along in the middle of the night? Ingenious idea," he snapped._

_ "Fine, fine," growled Airelle and jumped, landing on the walkway with a small thud. "Ouch!"_

_ "Come on, we don't have time," urged Snape, peeking around the corner._

_ "I'm fine, thank you for caring," Airelle said, glaring in his direction and wiping dirt off her knees. "All this for a potion ingredient. Merlin's beard, if someone found out--"_

_ "Shh!" hissed Snape suddenly, sweeping over to her and clutching her mouth with a hand. "Did you hear that?"_

_ Airelle's eyes went wide and she shook her head in a 'no.'_

_ "Somebody's close by," whispered Snape, his face inches away from hers. Airelle could see a bead of sweat reflecting the moon on his forehead. "Hide!"_

_ They shot off in opposite directions. Airelle crouched just to the side of the path, behind the huge base of a stone sculpture. Glancing up, she saw two things—one, that it was a statue of Hermes, and two, that the artist had not bothered to put any leaf on its privates. Cringing, Airelle discreetly covered her eyes and chose to stare at the gleaming path instead. Snape had disappeared, but knowing him, he could stand in shadow two feet away and you would not notice. So, there were plenty of hiding places where he could be concealed. Airelle left him to fate and continued to watch the pathway._

_ She did not have to wait long. A figure erupted into her vision in a blur of black Hogwarts robes and flaming red hair. She stopped almost right next to the statue, panting and laughing._

_ "I beat you, James!" she coughed, and sat on the ground in an elated fashion, with her head up proudly. Two seconds later, a boy came running, wand in his hand and a big smile on his face._

_ "Lily!" he breathed. "You cheated!"_

_ "I did nothing of the sort," said Lily Evans indignantly, crossing her arms. "I beat you fair and square."_

_ "All right then," drawled James Potter, "you win." His face was shining. "Now hand it over."_

_ The girl looked up. "What?"_

_ "The winner has to give a kiss of grace to the loser."_

_ "WHAT?"_

_ James grinned sheepishly as Airelle shook her head in dismay behind the statue and stared at the air in a 'can-you-believe-this' fashion. "It's the rules of the race," he said._

_ "James Potter," shrieked Lily, "you just made that rule up!"_

_ A flash of robes, a crouch, and he had her in a hug. "Quiet," he said. "Professor McGonagall or someone else could be out here and nail us."_

_ Airelle could see Lily's profile, staring up at her boyfriend with a smirk. "So?" she asked._

_ "So," muttered James, "we don't want to be…ah, interrupted."_

_ "Why not? I'll share detention with you," she grinned back, and kissed him in a sweeping upward motion. Airelle sighed softly, seeing she had no choice but to watch them, and drummed her fingers silently on Hermes's foot. This she did not expect on a little excursion to the Forbidden Forest._

_ And just when she was wondering when this little snog session would end and they could get on with their business, another figure came onto the scene._

_ "Forgive me," said a calm voice, "if I am interrupting."_

_ James and Lily jumped off each other as if they'd been burned. Airelle stifled a gasp as Dumbledore came onto the scene, his long white beard shining off his nightgown and his fluffy slippers silent on the stone._

_ "Headmaster--" James stammered, covering Lily protectively as if Dumbledore would hex her, "we were—we were just--"_

_ "Lost and going back inside?" contributed Dumbledore, and James nodded numbly._

_ "Excellent," said the elder wizard, smiling serenely. "I trust this behaviour will not be repeated in the middle of the night near the outskirts of the castle where you may easily be attacked?"_

_ "Yes…yes, sir," said Lily, standing up._

_ "Very well, then, you may go," said Dumbledore. The two did not need any more urging, and slid along the wall past him, rushing towards the main doors as soon as they cleared his vision. Dumbledore himself stood there for a while, and then turned back as well._

_ Airelle heaved a sigh and said, "Whew. Safe."_

_ Dumbledore's head poked back around the corner, looking at the empty path where Lily and James had been. His blue eyes held a merry twinkle as he added, "Miss Vilka, the invitation to return to your dormitories extends to you and Mr. Snape as well. Kindly extricate yourselves from the bushes and from behind that poor statue and go get some sleep before tomorrow's classes."_

_ And he walked off, slippers now shuffling. It was a full minute before Airelle and her friend emerged from their hiding places._

_ "Well," said Snape, as Airelle's mouth was still hanging agape in shock, "that covers our trip to the forest tonight."_

They had reached the fountain now, and it suddenly occurred to Airelle that she had not thanked Snape for saving her from Lockhart for the second time. She glanced at him, but he was apparently occupied with blasting another bush to smithereens.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Finnigan!" he yelled after a retreating figure. "And you too, Miss Brown!" Airelle shook her head. Well, at least there was no one around to bother them now. And people wondered why Snape had difficulty associating with others. He'd rather sneer at you than hug you. For some reason, Airelle was fine with that.

The water gurgled gently behind them as they sat on the edge. Jets of water hissed up into the air, and landed with soft splashes. Airelle looked sideways at Snape, who was silent.

"Thanks for being my saviour again tonight," she said.

Snape did not lift his head. "You're welcome. Although now I think you could have handled Lockhart on your own."

"Never," she laughed. "Your remarks to him were priceless."

More minutes passed in silence. Airelle was about to mutter something else about Lockhart and Dumbledore when--

"D'you hear that?" asked Snape. His head had perked up, and his angular chin was set. Airelle let her eyes dart towards the several paths that came towards the fountain. And sure enough, there were voices. Two, actually. But even if Airelle had not recognized them, their conversation surely would have aroused anyone's attention.

"Are you sure you do not have it?" asked a female voice; it sounded extremely anxious.

"I told you, Tracy, no," said another girl's voice, which Airelle recognized as Alica's. "We just spent the last two hours searching for it in our dormitory, and it's not there!"

"How could it disappear?" The voices were getting closer now, and Airelle wisely motioned for Snape away from the fountain. They stepped off the path into the shadows.

"I don't know. I must've left it in the library or something! I brought it there to decipher some old symbols I found in it, and I don't remember if I returned to the common room with it."

"Alica! What if anyone finds out it's gone? What if it was important?"

"Relax, Tracy," said the other Ravenclaw as they emerged from a path and went towards the fountain quickly. "It's just an old notebook. It's just probably misplaced; why would anyone want to steal it? And besides, weren't you the one who was so nonchalant about taking it in the first place?"

Tracy smoothed her black hair over her dark blue dress robes, and sat on the edge of the fountain, at the very same place where Airelle had just been. "All right, I was, but now I'm not so certain. It could have been Dark Arts stuff. Maybe even some curse."

"Oh, come off it," said Alica, perching next to her friend. "You checked it with the detector, and nothing came up. It is probably some prank by the Slytherins, taking it. You can't even read half the stuff in it, for Merlin's sake!"

Tracy, however, was not calmed by that remark, and swirled her finger in the water absently. "We need to find it, Alica," she muttered softly. "We just got to."

Airelle's grip on Snape's sleeve tightened. Someone had taken T.M. Riddle's notebook. Voldemort's notebook. But why--and who--

An ear-splitting shriek shattered the air, and Tracy and Alica jumped up from their places. Airelle and Snape turned around in the shadows and stared towards a path where the sound had come from. It led to the Forbidden Forest.

The scream came again as a ruckus rose over the garden and the main doors. Airelle could hear people shouting "Lumos!"

"We have to go get Dumbledore!" yelled Alica to her friend over her shoulder as she ran towards a path leading to the castle.

Tracy pointed towards the forest and mouthed, "But what about--"

"Are you nuts? You want to go in there by yourself?" hissed the girl. "C'mon, we gotta tell them!"

And they shot off in the direction of the Great Hall.

There was one more scream, a pitifully squeaky one. It sounded oddly like--

"Oh, my God," whispered Airelle. "It's Neville."

Clutching her wand, she raced after Snape in the direction of the Forbidden Forest, leaving the fountain gurgling and lonely in the dark.

To Be Continued…

A/N: Next chapter coming as soon as my teeth recover completely and those & stitches are removed. I'm sick of typing with one hand and holding an ice pack to my cheek with the other. :)


	15. Into the Woods

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

A/N: Yes, this chapter is named after a play. In case anyone cares, I saw it in school and thought the title would be appropriate. :)

Chapter 15 Into the Woods

The Forbidden Forest had its name for a reason. Airelle, for her part, had never ventured too deep inside it when she was a student; mostly, she and Snape used its outskirts as testing grounds for potions. Everyone was aware of the dangers that lurked between the trees, and not many had dared to enter. There were even rumors of Acromantulae – giant spiders – existing somewhere deep inside the forest, but that was unconfirmed. Still, it was enough to scare off the bravest of wizards.

_Bravest and fiercest of wizards, _thought Airelle as she and Snape tore through the forest path at top speed, the branches tangling in their hair as if pulling them back warningly. _So the question is: what is Neville Longbottom doing there?_ Airelle could imagine someone like Potter venturing too deep and getting into trouble… but Neville?

The cries were getting softer now, and Airelle found it difficult to keep up with her friend's agile strides as they quickened pace. The sounds were just ahead; they had to be. Airelle cringed and held her wand steady, although her eyes were jerking in every direction as if she were having a conniption fit. _I hope we're not too late._

The forest canopy had blocked out the moon now; Snape shook his wand and whispered, "Lumos!" The resulting light allowed Airelle to see clearly the path they were on, bordered by thick pushes and intimidatingly wide tree trunks.

The sounds had stopped completely, and the woods were as silent as a morgue. Airelle's instincts told her the light had been a bad idea. "This is not good," she muttered, bumping into Snape's back as he stopped in the middle of the path, listening intently. "You can see in the dark, so use your wand for an attacking spell, not for 'Lumos.'"

"We need it," said Snape.

"But this is foolish!" she protested.

"We need it, Airelle," he said again.

"Snape! We're like sitting ducks here with your wand revealing our location."

"Does this look like a good time to argue?" he snapped, turning around to face her. Airelle met his dark gaze without flinching.

"Fine, you stubborn arse," she snapped back in exactly the same tone. "Get us killed; see if I care."

Snape's eyes had narrowed. "And how do you expect," he sneered, "to see what's attacking you? You won't be able to see a foot in front of you in the dark."

Airelle stared at him, realizing he'd been thinking about her safety. She felt bad about the verbal bite, but decided to apologize later.

"Don't worry about me," she replied, more softly. "I'm an Auror, I can manage. Now, come on, we're wasting time."

It took a second for Snape to say, "I expect you, then, to be ready to strike at any moment." It seemed he did not wish to continue the squabble; smart.

"Count on it," she answered shortly, and resumed walking. And then, the noises came again.

"D'you hear—"

"Yes," Snape cut her off. "There!"

He swerved sharply to the right, off the path, with Airelle close behind. Up ahead, there was a muffled crying of sorts, almost choked sobbing. Airelle shoved a bush aside roughly and plowed forwards, wand at the ready. There was no time to lose. Snape, however, came upon the scene first, and stopped dead in his tracks.

"What the—"

They had burst onto a small clearing, surrounded by tree with broken, rotting branches and parchment-yellow foliage. Pale, ghostly moonlight peeked through the leaves, illuminating several spots of grass in the center. Wilting flowers stuck out in a disorderly fashion here and there, as if daring a gardener to lay a hand to them. And in the middle of the clearing lay the form of a human being, which looked more like a crumpled heap of cloth that had been discarded. It was a young woman, with long, shiny black hair and regal purple robes that looked so out of place with the rest of the surroundings. Her face was upturned and pale. Airelle stared, and recognized her. She'd seen her an hour or so ago, in the Great Hall.

Delilah, Lupin's new teacher's aide.

Snape paused for a second before sweeping over to her. Airelle glanced around for danger. Seemingly nothing… but those cries…

There was a crack on the far side of the clearing, and both Airelle and Snape whirled and pointed their wands in that direction.

"Wait!" yelled Airelle to her friend as she recognized the bent shape huddling at the base of a tree in the shadows. "Neville!"

Before Snape could say anything, Airelle lowered her wand and rushed forward towards the boy. He was clutching a dead root in his hands; his school robes were torn and dirty; his head was bent, and his back shook with stifled sobs.

"Neville," Airelle repeated, kneeling next to him and tapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Look at me."

Slowly, Neville lifted his head. Airelle gasped; he had a black eye and his upper lip was cut. A thin stream of blood trickled down his chin, but he seemed not to notice it.

"Oh, dear," said Airelle gently. "Can you talk?"

There was a silent nod. Airelle glanced backwards at Snape, who had sunk on his knees beside Delilah and was examining her closely. Faintly, she could hear more voices coming their way. It sounded like McGonagall, and maybe Flitwick…

"You're going to be all right," Airelle reassured the boy, and then raised her voice towards the forest. "Minerva!" she roared. "HERE!!"

Snape stood up and was about to say something to Neville. Airelle gave him a glare that said, 'If you take points off Neville now, I'm going to tear your head off.' Snape either got the message, or had no idea what she meant. In any case, he was silent, which was a good thing. Neville did not need to be traumatized further by the presence of his most hated teacher.

There was some shuffling close by, and Airelle raised her head just in time. It seemed like an entire mob had crashed into the clearing. They were in full dress-robe regalia of all colours, of course, and looked like they'd just come from a Mardi Gras Festival. Airelle squinted, and recognized Dumbledore's long white beard first.

"Headmaster!" she called as the newcomers froze in their tracks, much like Airelle and Snape had done. "It's Neville Longbottom… and…"

"Delilah B. Haze," finished Dumbledore, staring down thoughtfully at the prostrate body of the girl. "Severus?" It was a question that spoke volumes.

"She has been grievously injured, Headmaster," said Snape, looking at the elder wizard with slight worry in his face. "Several pain curses, a medley of charms I have never even seen before, and a partial Memory Wipe. It seems like the attacker had not been able to finish his job properly."

"Perhaps our young friend here may help us clear the situation," stated Dumbledore quietly, walking towards Airelle and Neville, who were both still sitting. "How is he, Airelle?"

"I recognize a pain curse as well," she said, patting Neville's head absently. "There is more, but I cannot place it just now."

"He has had quite a shock," said Dumbledore, stroking his beard. "I think, Madame Pomfrey, that a Sleep Potion is necessary to give some rest—"

"No," came a firm voice, and it took a while for Airelle to realize it had been Neville's. His eyes were flashing in his pale face, and his cut lip dribbled more blood. "Can't sleep—" He pointed a finger away from the clearing, further into the forest, and dropped it. Airelle and the others stared.

"What's out there? The thing that attacked you?"

Another nod, and McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sinistra headed cautiously in that direction, wands in attack position.

"Its useless to search," muttered Snape darkly. "They're long gone by now."

Dumbledore was about to say something, but was interrupted by Neville yet again.

"Dark Mark," the boy gasped, and wiped away the blood on his chin.

Those two words sent the assembled group in an uproar. Some wanted to alert the Ministry right away, some wished to go and search in the forest, and others decided that it would be best to return to the castle. In the middle of this, Dumbledore restored silence.

"Everyone must go back to the school," he announced calmly. "Professors, please make certain no one is left outdoors tonight, in case the attacker decides to return. All students must be in their dormitories within twenty minutes. Heads of Houses, please inform your respective students about what has happened, and assure them that everything is well now. Especially you, Minerva."

McGonagall, who looked even paler than Neville, nodded.

"I think that this was an isolated incident, and no other students shall be attacked," continued the Headmaster. "However, we do not wish to take any chances. So, I leave the students' evening activities to your discretion. Now, let us return, and see what Mr. Longbottom can tell us once he is settled."

Airelle glanced at the boy, who was still shaking. Then at the unconscious figure of Delilah Haze. Then, at Snape. And from the look on his face, the Potions professor did not understand this any better than Airelle did.

The students were not pleased about having to end the Yule Ball an hour and a half early; that was no surprise. But after word got out that there had been an attack, Airelle found herself bombarded by dozens of Gryffindors and other anxious people asking who it was, how it occurred, and the types of questions she did not really wish to spend time answering.

"Please," she said, backing away into a corridor, followed by no less than thirty students, "please, calm yourselves. Everything shall be fine. Now, I suggest you speak--" (here she felt a little bad, but decided, via her own rationing, that it was for the best) "—with your Head of House. I am needed upstairs."

"But, Professor—"

"I heard it was Neville Longbottom!"

"Is he well?"

"Who attacked him?"

"All I know," said Airelle smoothly, "that no one is to disturb him in the Hospital Wing until he recovers. Good-night."

Some angry muttering followed her up the staircase, but she paid no heed. It was understandable; the students were concerned. And if they only knew what Neville had said about the Dark Mark, they'd positively trample her with questions.

Who could it have been? Someone must have lured Neville into the Forbidden Forest. But for what reason? And what did Lupin's new aide have to do with it?

Panting, Airelle decided to head towards the infirmary. Surely, there her questions would be shed some light on.

Ten minutes later, Airelle Vilka found herself pacing her bedroom, absently twirling a strand of her hair, which had fallen out of its bun in the excitement. She had not been allowed to even see Neville.

_"I'm sorry," Madame Pomfrey had said through a crack in the infirmary door. "The Headmaster is watching over Mr. Longbottom, who has been given a Recovery Solution. He shall call you as soon as Neville is ready to speak."_

Airelle slumped on her unmade bed, which she had not slept in for a week. The students were agitated, the teachers all had worried looks on their faces (with the exception of Dumbledore, who seemed to be perpetually calm), and there were two people lying in the Hospital Wing, one unconscious and the other speaking of the Dark Mark. Fantastic.

She sighed and pulled off her dress robes; the ball was over. As she did so, Airelle's beleaguered mind flew to Delilah B. Haze again. She had not seen the young woman in the school before the Yule Ball, so she must have arrived either that day or during the time Airelle was unconscious in the Hospital Wing. But how on earth did she wind up in the Forbidden Forest, when she'd been talking to Lupin that whole night? How?

Airelle glanced up, took a glass of wine off her nightstand, and drank it straight. Lupin. That was the answer; he'd know when, and possibly why, Delilah left his company. It suddenly occurred to the Illusions professor that she hadn't seen Lupin since that time. He was not in the Forbidden Forest with Dumbledore and the others…

Airelle cursed herself. Lupin was one of the Marauders; James Potter, murdered by Voldemort, had been his best friend. There was no way he could be involved in the attack. No way. But still… perhaps he knew something Dumbledore did not.

She had just made up her mind to go and search for the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor when a slight knock sound on her door. Not curious at all, Airelle rose and shuffled around her bed to the doorknob. Neville had probably recovered, and they wanted the teachers there--

She opened it. Severus Snape was on the other side of the doorway.

"Oh, hello," she said, blinking in surprise. "I wasn't expecting you."

"No one ever does," he replied, but then fell silent and stared at her, as if he'd been shocked with a lightning bolt. Airelle gazed back, arching her eyebrows.

"What?" she asked. "Have I suddenly sprouted extra heads like a Hydra?"

When her friend spoke again, his voice was different. "Am I… interrupting something?" he asked softly, his black eyes glittering.

Airelle frowned. "Of course you're not. What, do you think I'm having a party in here? Come in already!" And she stepped back from the door, allowing Snape to enter. He didn't move.

"Then…why are you wearing that?"

"Eh?" Airelle looked down, and then, it hit her. She had removed her robes, forgetting all about the dress underneath. She had not had a chance to show it to Snape, in the turbulence of the night's events. _Dear, you're quite a sight, _said a voice in her head tauntingly. _Your hair tousled, the dress hanging off your bare shoulders—one would think you'd just—_

Shaking her head vigorously, Airelle smiled at Snape. "Oh, this?" she asked. "This…is a dress."

Snape crossed his arms as she closed the door after him. "I can see that," was his response. "Why are you wearing it?"

"Err…" Airelle went deeper into the bedroom and set her empty wineglass back on the nightstand. "I was planning to wear it for the ball… but couldn't, since, you know, dress robes and all," she said hastily. "It's, umm, a Muggle dress, which is why it doesn't look like a robe." She rummaged in the drawer of the nightstand for a wrap to put her hair into its usual ponytail. She could not find it, and eventually gave up, when Snape's voice called from behind her, "I see it does not have a… back."

Airelle grinned and turned around. Perhaps she was going to have fun watching her friend's reaction after all. She could not resist her next question. "Do you like it?"

Snape suddenly looked like he wanted to run, and Airelle raised her eyebrows, trying very hard to suppress a smile. It was not every day Snape looked like this. She doubted anyone had ever asked him that question before, at least as far as skin-showing, tight dresses were concerned. Airelle herself had worn robes all the time during their friendship as students, even outside of school. Well, most of the time. Still, the only Muggle clothes Snape had ever seen her in were long nightgowns, shirts, and pants. But nothing like this, ever…

"Well?" she asked. Snape was, obviously, still trying to formulate a response that would be neither nasty nor too nice.

"I think," he finally said, eyeing her carefully, "that it… accentuates your figure. But I never knew you were so thin."

"If you tell me I'm not eating right, I swear I'll hex you," she laughed, allowing the repressed grin to finally stretch her face and deciding to spare him any more of her questions. "I eat like a pig."

"I do know _that_ much," he smirked, and Airelle looked at him in mock threat. "But seriously," Snape added, "I'm not proficient in my knowledge of Muggle clothing; nevertheless, I think that you do look fine. Even if the dress is a bit--" He paused, as if contemplating a word. "--revealing… for my taste." His eyes had returned to their normal state as their sweeping gaze took in Airelle's entire form, up to the hem. It was a look that made her feel oddly under-dressed. _God, not this again. There ought to be a law against eyes like that._

"Ah," said Airelle quickly. "Well, anyway…take a seat. I know it isn't as fancy up here as in your bedroom, but I daresay—"

"I'm not that vainglorious, Airelle," said Snape, and placed himself on a chair opposite the bed. Airelle threw the sheets closer to the pillow to make a space for herself and sat facing him.

"So," she asked, "did Dumbledore say anything yet? About Neville?"

"They would not allow me into the infirmary," he replied, stifling a yawn. It was by now pretty late, though not nearly as late as they'd often stay up in their student days. It showed that Snape was badly in need of a good night's sleep. _Now, that's the pot calling the kettle black, _said Airelle to herself acidly. _If you can't rest because of your nightmares, imagine what a double agent for Dumbledore against Voldemort must dream about._

"Same here," she said. "Madame Pomfrey told me to wait until I'm called."

"Where is Lupin, I wonder?" asked Snape, voicing Airelle's thoughts.

"That's what I want to know," answered the professor, standing up and beginning to pace again in front of her bed. "And what this Delilah Haze has to do with the incident." She leaned on a bedpost. "Strange goings-on, we have here."

Snape was silent for a long time. Airelle looked up at him, and his brow was furled.

"What is it?" she asked, coming closer to his chair. "You are upset."

More silence.

"Look," she tried, suddenly remembering her promise to herself, "if you're thinking of the Forbidden Forest… I'm…eh, I'm sorry for snapping at you." She breathed out through her nose loudly. "I did not mean to hurt you."

He finally looked up, and his eyes were inscrutable; they told her nothing. "It takes much more than a word to hurt me," he replied coolly. "But thank you for the apology."

"Then what is it?"

"I should have known about the attack, as Voldemort's agent at Hogwarts," he replied, looking out into space as if he were not all there. "If it was indeed a Death Eater who attacked Longbottom and Lupin's aide, I should have been informed. But I was not. Moreover," –and at this he sounded like he had been harboring the words for a while—"my own Dark Mark had not burned black for a long time, and no Death Eaters have contacted me. I fear that Voldemort does not believe I returned to him fully. And that means… he may be plotting to kill me."

"That's ridiculous," Airelle said hotly, not daring to admit to herself that Snape might have guessed the truth. "Voldemort has no reason to doubt your loyalty yet. Perhaps Delilah and Neville were attacked for another reason."

Snape's face did not brighten, but his eyes sparkled a little. "Maybe…" he murmured, more to himself than to Airelle. "Maybe this girl knew something that needed to be hushed before she had a chance to talk."

"And Neville simply was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe he decided to be brave, and sneak off to the forest to prove himself. Then, he unwittingly came upon a scene he should not have witnessed."

"Longbottom is, as Americans put it so eloquently, a scaredy-cat," said Snape. "Not even a dare from the likes of Potter would convince him to make a trip to the forest alone."

"You'd be surprised," muttered Airelle darkly, thinking of her broom training with Neville every Saturday and now, every Wednesday as well. He had been gaining confidence… but had that inadvertently turned to stupidity?

"Supposing he did indeed go there by himself," said Snape, "why was Delilah not silenced earlier, before she came to Hogwarts? Whoever attacked her, if it was planned, knew how dangerous it would be to strike in a protected area. Why did this person risk Dumbledore's magic, rather than kill the girl in some grimy alleyway?"

Airelle glanced up. "So, you think she was attacked because she saw something _here_? At the school?"

"Perhaps," said the Potions Master thoughtfully, furrowing his brows even further over his hooked nose. "But what could she have seen?"

A cold realization sliced into Airelle's heart. "D'you think… there might be another secret Death Eater here? Like… like Moody last year? And when she discovered him, he attacked her?"

"What I wish to know is how she and Longbottom wandered into the forest, whether by force or not. And if this Death Eater, if there is one, is still in the school," said Snape.

"Hmm," sighed Airelle and sat on the table next to her friend. "Hmm."

"We shall just have to see what Longbottom tells us."

"What about Delilah?" she asked.

"Judging from her injuries," mumbled Snape gloomily, "it'll be a while before she can tell us anything. However good Madame Pomfrey is, she won't be able to fix this sort of malady in a few days. We shall be lucky if the girl awakens at all."

Airelle shifted slightly on the tabletop and swung her legs back and forth, so as to give them something productive to do. A thought raked her mind as she stared at the stone floor… _What if Snape's right? If Voldemort really knows he's a traitor… this attack has proven that even Hogwarts won't be safe for him… and if he is summoned by the Dark Mark again… then he could be killed and replaced so easily…_

Her musings were interrupted by another knock at the door. When Airelle made to jump off the table, Snape said, "Sit. I'll open it."

He swept to the door and pulled it open. There was a soft gasp from the hallway. From between Snape's arm and the rest of his body, Airelle could distinguish a very terrified face, that of a fifth-year Gryffindor girl with bushy brown hair. Hermione Granger.

"Professor!" she squeaked, staring up at Snape as though she had expected Father Christmas and got the Grim Reaper instead. "I—I wanted—"

"To lose points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger?" Snape sneered. "You are not aware, perhaps, that all students are supposed to be in their common rooms now? Or are you, as usual, running about asking for trouble to slap you in the face?"

Hermione looked like she was ready to sink through the floor, but said firmly, "Headmaster Dumbledore wishes to see Professor Vilka in the Hospital Wing immediately." She looked around Snape to Airelle, who gave her a nod of approval.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," said Snape, in a tone that was no less harsh than previously. "Now, go back to your common room, and do not wander off to another part of the castle on the way." With that, he shut the door in her face.

Airelle grinned at her friend when he turned around to face her. "The word 'nice' is not in your vocabulary, is it?" she asked, not even bothering to hide her laughter. Snape did not reply, and the Illusions professor kept sniggering as she followed him out into the hallway.

Once outside, Snape glided wordlessly to a staircase leading to the Hospital Wing, leaving Airelle to lock her door. As she did so, her line of vision caught a figure stirring at the other end of the corridor. She turned her head quickly and recognized none other than Harry Potter himself. Airelle looked back at Snape, who was at the moment walking up the stairs. Swiveling her head back again, she checked her doorknob and, satisfied, gave the Gryffindor the thumbs up. He had probably been worried about Neville, and wanted to be the one to inform Airelle and ask her questions, but Hermione took the job. And a good thing that was, too; Snape would have probably screamed bloody murder if he saw Harry Potter anywhere out of his dormitory now. Airelle made a shooing gesture to Harry, who understood and disappeared promptly just as Snape made his way back down the stairs.

"Coming?" he asked. Airelle shook her head and proceeded after him, hoping Neville was all right. In truth, she was just as worried about the boy as Potter was. Perhaps even more, since she knew about what Neville had said of the Dark Mark… and he was so nice to her…

_Well, so much for Thomas Teezy's Teaching Manual's warning not to get attached to students, _she thought sourly, and trudged up the stone stairway in the wake of Snape's billowing black robes.

"Ah, Severus, Airelle, good of you to come," was the greeting they received when the infirmary door was finally opened for them. Inside was a medium-sized group of people – Dumbledore, McGonagall, Pomfrey, Sprout, Flitwick, and, to Airelle's relief, Lupin, who was bending over a bed and looking very alarmed.

"Close that door, if you please, Airelle," Dumbledore addressed her. Airelle obliged, and leaned on the door, while Snape stepped forward.

"How are they, Headmaster?" he asked, and his voice was tinged with eagerness.

"From what Remus and Poppy tell me, Severus," said the wizard, who was next to another bed in the corner, "Miss Haze is still unconscious, and it will be a while before she regains her senses."

"But it can be done?" asked Airelle, also stepping forward because the doorknob was digging into her back. Sprout, McGonagall, and Pomfrey all stared at her in much the same way as Snape had, and Airelle once again realized it was because of the dress. She'd forgotten to throw her robe back on before leaving.

"Muggle dress," she said quickly. "Long story."

Dumbledore was smiling when he answered her question. "Yes, it can be done. Remus shall have his aide back as soon as possible. But it is remarkable, really, how she withstood the medley of charms and curses that have been showered onto her."

Lupin bent back up over the bed, and Airelle could see Delilah's head, long dark hair cascading over the white sheet that covered her up to the neck. Her eyes were closed, and her lips were dry and pressed tightly together as if she were having a nightmare. The Illusions professor glanced to the right, to the bed in the corner, near which Dumbledore and McGonagall were standing. Neville was sitting up, straight and rather stiff, against the wall. He was wearing a thicker version of the Hospital Wing nightgown that Airelle herself had worn until that very morning, and a gleaming silver necklace dangled from his neck on a chain, its ornamental beast, curling around the initials N.L., almost alive in the pale moonlight. His chubby face was very white, but his eyes flashed defiantly at the pain as Madame Pomfrey bustled around him, wrapping his arm in bandages. The black eye had healed, and his cut lip had been mended; he looked almost normal, as if he'd been in class, except that the attack seemed to have given him a newfound strength to speak.

"Hullo, Professor," he said, smiling at Airelle and wincing as Madame Pomfrey bent his arm into a magical sling.

"Hi there, survivor," she said gently, brushing past Snape and sitting on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Great," he said with another wince.

"When are we going to start practicing your flying again, eh?" she smiled, trying to get away from the fact that they were in a medical facility after an attack by someone associated with Voldemort.

"Oh, Professor…" He paused and smiled back. "As soon as I get out of here, you may count on it—I won't let you down."

"Excellent!" Airelle patted the boy's good shoulder.

"Our young friend here is very brave," said Dumbledore, looking down at them both from the end of the bed. His eyes were twinkling. "He wanted to speak before taking the rest potion."

"A true Gryffindor," added McGonagall, her eyes glistening in the semi-darkness. Neville blushed; McGonagall rarely complimented him.

"Indeed," said the Headmaster, eyes still twinkling. "Now…" He turned towards McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, and Snape. "Have you all informed your respective Houses of the situation?"

When all four nodded agreement, Dumbledore continued, "Excellent. Now, I think that it is time for us to begin. Everyone who wishes to leave may do so."

No one moved. Dumbledore smiled and kept speaking placidly, turning his eyes toward Neville again.

"Very well then…Mr. Longbottom… would you please tell us all what happened, and how it came to be that you and Miss Delilah Haze found yourselves in the Forbidden Forest?"

"I don't remember everything," Neville began, now looking nervous, "but I'll tell you what I do know. I was wandering around the corridors near the library an hour or two after the Yule Ball began…I did not have a date…" He paused, smiling apologetically. "I was not really doing anything, just thinking about things. And then, I saw a young lady come up to me in the hallway. She said her name was Delilah, and she was looking for the nearest bathroom. She said she was Professor Lupin's new assistant."

"Does that correspond with what you witnessed, Remus?" asked Dumbledore.

"Yes," said Lupin, and Airelle saw Snape shoot an odd look at the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. "I was talking to Miss Haze, and then, she excused herself. I did not see her again after that, until…" He trailed off, gesturing towards the bed.

"Continue, Neville," said Dumbledore.

"Well," mumbled the boy as a thick silence descended once again, broken only by his voice and the soft breathing of the people in the room, "she had a pet parrot on her shoulder. It was very beautiful, all blue and red and yellow. I wanted to pet it, and she let me. She said it could even do tricks, and we were both playing with it when-- I guess someone came up behind us."

Snape drew in a sharp breath, and Airelle asked, "Who?"

"I did not really see his face in the dark," said Neville sadly. "But he wore black robes with a red hood. And he…waved his wand at me and Delilah, and said something. It was a lot like that time last year… when we did Curses in Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Moody. And I felt light… and the next thing I know, Delilah and I were outside, near the main doors in the rose garden. And… we saw a boy and a girl. The girl said hello to us, but we did not reply. There was only one thing we needed to do… go to the forest, the man had said. Go to the forest."

"The Imperius Curse," said Flitwick sorrowfully. Airelle nodded. She had never experienced it directly, but she'd seen enough people affected by it to last her a lifetime. Dumbledore and the others nodded in concord also.

"And then what happened?" asked McGonagall, wringing her fingers in a handkerchief.

Neville paused again; it looked like he was straining his memory. "Then…we went inside, and stopped in the clearing you saw. The man… was waiting for us there. He said something to Delilah, about the Dark Mark. Then, he pointed his wand at me, and yelled a charm, and I was thrown backwards into a tree on my arm. It was painful, and I cried out, but I felt like myself again, not light anymore." There was a hiatus in his speech. After a while, Neville began again, looking down and poking his finger at the bed sheets. "But then, something strange happened. My vision was blurry, so I could not see that well. But I knew he was going to hurt me… and suddenly, there was a blast from behind him. I think it was Delilah… she must've done something to him. He whirled around and… there was a blast of red light. She screamed, and fell, and he continued to shoot at her with his wand. I wanted to help but I couldn't get up. It was terrible."

"I imagine so," murmured Dumbledore. "So you think Miss Haze somehow fought off the Imperius Curse long enough to stop your attacker from killing you?"

"I… I suppose," said Neville. "He kept shouting things at her… But there were people coming – they must have heard me yell – and he turned and left into the forest. I stayed next to the tree, and Delilah was…was…" He trailed off.

"And that was when you came in, Airelle," said Dumbledore, looking towards her.

"Yes, Headmaster," she replied. "Professor Snape and I were there first."

"And you saw nobody save Miss Haze and Neville?"

"No one, sir."

"Interesting, rather interesting," said Dumbledore. "Why, I wonder, did our attacker not use the Avada Kedavra--" (Airelle flinched visibly at the words) "--on Miss Haze immediately? Am I correct in saying, Poppy, that she has been stricken with a Memory Wipe?"

"Yes," said Madame Pomfrey, sponging Delilah's forehead. "Not fully, however. I've never seen anything like this mélange of spells before."

"Curious. He must have attempted to hush it all up first, and when Miss Haze struck back, he barraged her with different charms and curses. Perhaps he lost his head at realizing that others would arrive soon… What else can you tell us, Neville?"

"Not much," said the Gryffindor fifth-year softly. "Many people came, and I knew I was safe. And Madame Pomfrey conjured a stretcher for me and Delilah."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Very good, Neville. You have helped us much. Possibly, if this person decides to return – and I have a feeling he will – we shall be ready for him. Now," he continued, turning to the rest of the group, "we have questioned Neville enough. It is late, and we all need some sleep on our first day of the holidays."

Most of the professors took this as their cue to exit, including Lupin and Snape. Airelle, however, was rooted on her spot on Neville's bed, watching the others leave. McGonagall engaged herself in a quiet conversation with Dumbledore, and they went out together, both with intensely thoughtful looks on their faces. _Why do I get the feeling Dumbledore knows more about this than we do? _Airelle thought. But then again, that man was anywhere and everywhere; he seemed to be omniscient. On the other hand, maybe he was just as confused as the others were. Maybe.

She smiled at Neville. "I think I should tell you, before Madame Pomfrey kicks me out," she grinned, "that I'm proud of you."

"For what?" Neville asked incredulously. "I didn't do anything. I couldn't even… help Delilah."

"Just… for not being afraid to speak out about this whole incident," she said, squeezing his hand. "And for being modest. Your parents would be pleased."

Neville was suddenly silent. Airelle blanched; maybe she should not have mentioned his parents so close to an event involving the Dark Lord. Coughing, she said, "Well, umm, I think I must go now. You get some rest too."

"I'll try and convince Madame Pomfrey to let me go back to the dormitory," he replied, twiddling his necklace (a family heirloom, judging by a crest in the middle) in his hands idly. "My friends… Harry… must be worried."

"You're right on that," laughed Airelle. "I saw him in the corridors. The Gryffindors are anxious; I say, if you're not feeling too bad, you should take the Sleeping Draught with you up to the dormitory and drink it there. At least you'll be with your friends."

"I'll try," Neville smiled. "Thank you, Professor."

"You're welcome," Airelle answered, standing up and heading towards the door as Madame Pomfrey emerged from an adjacent room with a bottle in her hands. "And don't forget your promise about the flying practice."

"I won't!"

"Go easy on him, Madame Pomfrey," she added as she headed outside and closed the door.

It was damp and dark in the dungeons as usual, and Airelle's breath rose in a mist in front of her face. Figuring her friend had gone downstairs, she'd decided to pay him a visit and discuss what they had heard. There was the matter of the man with the red hood… and also, of the missing notebook. Her thoughts swam back to Airelle's conversation with Snape before Hermione knocked on the door. _What if Snape was right about Voldemort?_ she wondered again. _I shall never forgive myself if he is called to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as a Death Eater and killed. It'll be my fault, since he voiced his worries to me…_

_God, Vilka, get a grip on yourself. There is nothing to worry about yet, _Airelle tried mentally. _Nothing. Neville is fine; Delilah shall be, hopefully, and Fudge won't probably even believe Dumbledore if he says anything about the Dark Mark. The attacker won't return, and if he will… Dumbledore can be trusted to take care of it. And as for the notebook—like Alica Tylon said, probably just a childish prank._

But deep inside…Airelle knew that was too optimistic. This was not the end of it; every instinct in her body, Auror or not, screamed with the knowledge. The question was: how many of her fears were going to come true?

She turned a corner and came upon an old suit of armor, the hand of which she had turned the previous night. It opened the passageway to the room in which Tom Riddle's--Voldemort's--school possessions were concealed. Airelle stared at it dejectedly for a moment before moving on. What if whoever attacked Delilah had stolen the notebook as well? But when would he have time? And how did he know to take it from Alica and Tracy at that very time? Were the two incidents possibly connected?

Sighing, she resolved herself to converse about all these things with the Potions Master when she saw him. It would not be too long now; the door to his chambers was just ahead…

She made to turn another corner, but stopped dead. There were voices ahead, just around the bend. One of them was Snape's, and the other—

Remus Lupin.

Airelle leaned against the cold stones and strained her hearing. There was a leak in the ceiling next to her, emitting a sinister and steady drip that sounded like Chinese water torture in the stillness. The voices came again, and the coldness of Snape's tone chilled even Airelle's blood.

"Really, Lupin, you expect me to believe that?" he was saying. "Perhaps there is another reason why you were not anywhere near that girl when she was attacked."

When Lupin replied, his voice was deadly calm. "You've gone stark raving mad, Snape, if you believe I am in league with the man who murdered my best friend."

"Oh, I'm not saying that," retorted the other acidly. "Dumbledore may trust you. But Black is a totally different thing, as far as I'm concerned. Perhaps Dumbledore has not realized it as of yet."

Airelle almost gasped. Black… as in Sirius Black? The infamous Azkaban escapee? She knew Lupin was friends with Black back in their student years, but she never dreamed that, even after the death of Peter Pettigrew--

"Think about it, Lupin… a fugitive on the run," muttered Snape. "I know you've been sneaking Black into the school to see his beloved Potter or for whatever reason. You're endangering Hogwarts. Imagine if Cornelius Fudge discovers that a criminal sentenced to a Dementor's Kiss on the spot is found lounging about in these corridors."

"Sirius Black has not been inside the walls of this school," answered Lupin slowly. "But even if he had been… Black is a good man, better than many I've met over the course of my life. He is in no way connected to the attack on Longbottom and Ms. Haze, Snape, and you know it perfectly."

"Are you so certain of that?" whispered Snape, and Airelle could just imagine him backing Lupin into the wall with his dark gaze. Then again, knowing Remus Lupin, that was not likely the picture. But in any case, that was not what mattered. She listened as her friend continued speaking.

"Just how well do you know your friend, Lupin?" asked Snape lethally, as if the question was meant to pierce a heart. "You must not have too much open contact with him, and he'd been a prisoner of Azkaban for twelve long years. What if the trust in him, both yours and Dumbledore's, is misplaced?"

"You are misguided," said the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor with a deep, heavy sigh. "I do not harbor long-standing animosity as you do, and I feel sorry for the fact that you blame a crime on an innocent man."

"I don't need your pity, of all people," sneered Snape.

"Very well, then," replied Lupin, and there was a shuffle of robes. "As long as you know that we are all against Voldemort, I have no problem."

"Just make sure that is true concerning Black," said Snape. "And I'll be watching."

"Keep watching, then, if you choose to waste your time in that fashion."

There was silence from both, and then footsteps headed away from Airelle towards the other end of the corridor. Lupin had left, apparently.

Airelle wanted to sink into the wall. Dumbledore… trusting Black?

"You did not tell me everything that night," she said coolly, stepping around the corner. Snape jumped in surprise, but regained his composure within a second.

"You did not ask," he said.

Airelle was miffed, seriously. "This was important! Dumbledore having confidence in a wanted criminal? You seemed to have left it out during your little conversation about Moody and the Goblet of Fire. Did it slip your mind?" she asked sarcastically, staring up at him.

"There are many things you do not know about, Airelle," said Snape. "But in any event, innocent or not, I do not trust Black, not matter how much Dumbledore does."

"Oh, not this again," scowled Airelle, crossing her arms. Her voice echoed in the corridor, but she did not care. "You know, I think Lupin's right. You hold rancor against Black, and still think he is nothing less than something slimy under your boot."

"Did you happen to forget how he treated the both of us, in school?" Snape asked, stepping closer to her. Airelle promised mentally to give herself points for not backing away.

"No," she answered softly. "But that's over. If Dumbledore trusts Black, I will go along with it, whatever Black may have done in the past. I don't even need to hear why. Dumbledore is wiser and more intuitive than all the people in this school put together. You are brilliant, Snape, but you've held the hate in for far too long."

"Are you my therapist now?" he asked harshly. His face was inches away from hers, and his black liquid gaze could have melted iron on the spot. Airelle stared up at him.

"No, I'm not your therapist," she answered. "I'm your friend. Your best friend, if I'm not mistaken. And frankly, I think you're just being a judgmental slob."

"Am I?" he asked, his voice dropping about twelve tones to an impossibly soft pitch.

"Yes, you are." She continued to look up at him, and neither of them moved a muscle. It was an odd scene; a strange face-off right in front of Snape's 'fake' bedroom, a dying torch on the wall framing their faces, and the inexorable _drip, drip_ of the leaking water somewhere in the background.

Airelle's heart was, for some reason, doing a drumbeat repertoire in her chest. Her stomach muscles began to spasm slightly, partly because of all the stress she'd been through… but mostly because at that very moment, Snape's long, slender fingers curled around her bare shoulders. She suddenly wished she hadn't worn that stupid, God-forsaken dress…

She felt a slight but steady pull on Snape's part, drawing her towards himself. _Oh, dear…oh, my God. Somebody tell me again, what am I doing here?_

Airelle did not break her eyes from Snape. They sparkled so much, like the obsidian water in Almathea's bath. She could see her reflection in it.

This was it… she knew it. It was really easy, her friends had said once. Just tilt your head, open your lips, and indulge yourself in a delightful game of tonsil hockey. But surely… none of her friends had expected this to occur with Severus Snape, the Slytherin Snake??

_Go on, do it, _said a voice slyly in her head. _I dare you._

Airelle gulped. There was nothing in Thomas Teezy's Teaching Manual that could relate even remotely to this. She was on her own.

_Eat your heart out, all you swooning damsels, _muttered Airelle to herself, and smiled at Snape.

"Umm… I think it is best for us to talk about all this tomorrow, and over the holidays. With… you know, clear heads and all."

Snape looked at her for a second, and released her immediately. "Very well, then," he said calmly. "Sleep well, Airelle."

She nodded. "Right… you too. Good night." And then, Airelle turned on her heel and left the corridor, knowing she'd have one hell of a migraine sorting all this out in the morning. Of course, she did not see the slow grin that had crept onto Snape's face as he opened the door to his bedroom.

To Be Continued…


	16. 'Tis the Season

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 16 'Tis the Season

The next week, with the exception of the occasional disturbance of headaches, had passed by relatively quickly for Airelle. That appeared to be the case with everyone else. No one of the students knew what exactly had attacked Neville, or if they did, they did not seem to be talking. Bright, crisp, and sunny days had settled upon the school. Delilah was recovering steadily; Neville was back on his broom and practicing with Airelle every day now that the holidays were here; there was no peep from the Forbidden Forest, and everyone had nearly forgotten about the whole incident.

Well, not everyone. Of course, Airelle knew that it was the predominant thing on Dumbledore's, Snape's, and her mind, at least. She had not (unlike she'd said she would) mentioned the incident to her friend since the night of its occurrence; he did not wish to talk, apparently, of it. Airelle wisely left the matter alone; she did not need any more confrontations with Snape like the one she had on December 17th. As a whole, their relationship had not changed; they still spent frequent hours in their secret room, where Snape constantly kept a vigil over the fifty potions they'd concocted during their student days. He confessed that he was afraid they would be necessary after all. There was no word from him about the near-kiss… and she liked it that way. Snape was acting exactly as if nothing had happened. If it were on his mind, Airelle did not wish to go probing; she'd learned long ago to tread lightly when it came to his personal life. She had enough problems of her own. If Snape wanted to talk, he'd talk. But in the meantime, December 25th approached, with Airelle awakening rather late and enjoying her sleep, which for some reason seemed to be clear of nightmares. Perhaps it was the regular doses of Snape's sleeping potions from his personal cabinet… or maybe it was just because she'd put the worry, at least somewhat, out of her mind until January 1st, when classes would begin again. The missing notebook, however, was still missing, and anxiety about that could not be helped. Still, the Illusions professor consoled herself with the fact that when Delilah awakened, she could perhaps bring more light than Neville onto the matter. And then, Airelle would have a greater shot at knowing if the two incidents were connected. After all, Neville's presence near the library that night was just a coincidence… right?

Airelle knew it probably wasn't. But in any case, it was hard to think of Voldemort with the morning sun, the crunchy snow underfoot, and the fresh breeze that ruffled her bed-sheets if she managed to remember to leave her window open at night. It was as if a Cheering Charm had affected the whole school; even Snape and Filch did not seem so nasty (at least to Airelle) on the holidays. She could even picture Mrs. Norris decked out in a red reindeer nose and a holly wreath, but that was a stretch even for Airelle's vivid imagination.

With these thoughts in mind, Airelle Vilka awakened on Christmas morning to sounds of a large argument outside her bedroom door. She blinked several times to make sure that she was not dreaming, and then lay still in her bed, listening (thank heaven she had excellent hearing) through the canopy curtains and beyond.

"No! No, absolutely not. You knock… I'm leaving."

"Tracy! Are you mad? How will I tell her by myself? She'll kill me, and there'll be no witnesses!"

"Oh, Alica," the other girl replied in an exasperated tone, "she is not going to kill you. Just don't tell her we took it on purpose."

"So what am I supposed to—"

"Be quiet! She might be awake."

"Sorry." Alica's voice went lower. "What am I going to say, that we just wound up in that room by accident?"

"Don't tell her we were in there, genius!"

"Then what?"

"Say… say that we found it somewhere… and then decided to check it out because of the strange symbols… and then lost it in the library."

"She'd have to be really thick to believe that, Tracy."

"Not necessarily. No one knows who took it in the first place except us, right? So, we'll just leave that as a secret. That way, she'll believe someone else took it out of that room and left it. Then, we found it, and lost it again."

"All right… but if we get kicked out, you'd better run from me, and fast."

"I'm shaking in my boots, Alica. Really." And there was a small knock on the door.

Airelle stayed put, thinking. So, the two Ravenclaws had finally gotten up the courage to inform someone of the missing notebook. Airelle had half-expected this; Tracy Patts and Alica Tylon had been acting oddly reserved since the Yule Ball. One did not have to be Einstein or Descartes to guess that they suspected the very same thing Airelle did – that the disappearance of Tom Riddle's notebook and the attack on Neville and Delilah were somehow connected. Although, judging from their conversation, neither of them could tell Airelle anything new. After all, she and Snape had been in the room, invisible, when the girls had curiously taken the notebook. They did not know half of the danger, however – unlike Airelle and Snape, they were not aware that the book had once belonged to Lord Voldemort. Nevertheless, the Illusions professor decided to act surprised, and rose from the bed, sweeping aside the curtains. Another knock.

"I am coming, keep your robe on," she muttered, making her voice hoarse. The bottom hem of her long-sleeved, dark green nightgown (after being in Snape's bedroom, dark green did not seem so bleak anymore) swept the floor casually, hitting against her ankles. Over the years, Airelle found that walking barefoot on a cold stone floor did wonders in waking up a reticently sleepy person.

Yawning, she threw back the bolt on the door with one hand and made a feeble attempt to straighten out her hair with the other. She slept with it pulled into a loose braid; but by the end of a night, it was usually a mangled white mess. Finally satisfied with pulling it free altogether, Airelle turned the doorknob.

"Merry Christmas, Professor," Alica Tylon beamed from the other side of the doorway. Tracy was right beside her, and both had managed to plaster winning smiles onto their faces. Airelle almost burst out in mirth; they looked like poster children for laughing gas.

"Good morning," she nodded. "I take it you're not here to bring me any more… messages from Professor Snape, are you?"

At that, Tracy backed away, obviously recalling the fake note meant to send Airelle to the dungeons. Inadvertently, it had resulted in the Runespoor accident, which had caused her to spend several days in the infirmary. Airelle had stopped being angry with the girl for pulling the prank long ago, but it amused her to see the reaction.

"Err… umm…" Tracy said, her smile fading somewhat. "No, Professor."

"Relax," laughed Airelle, pulling her door wider open. "I won't give you detention." She winked, uncharacteristically; maybe Lockhart was rubbing off on her, too. "It is Christmas, after all."

"Oh," said Alica, nudging Tracy forward again. "That's good. Did you sleep well, Professor?"

"Divinely," she replied, wondering when they'd say something about the notebook. "And you?"

"Great." With that, Alica looked at Tracy, as if unsure what to say next. The latter shrugged, but Airelle spoke before either of them could utter anything.

"Would you like to come in and have some tea before breakfast?" she offered. Tracy and Alica were not likely to start speaking of the book right out in the corridor, for sure.

The two hesitated. "Erm…well, we all really ought to get down to breakfast," Tracy began. "I heard they decorated the House tables beautifully."

"Yes," added Alica, catching on, "they say everything's decked out. And Professor Flitwick even allowed, I hear, for the candles hovering above the Ravenclaw table to glow blue!"

"I am certain it shall be a dazzle, and splendid to watch," said Airelle calmly. "However, didn't you knock on my door for the purpose of talking to me about something?"

Alica suddenly looked uncomfortable and said, "Well… no, not really. We just wanted to say Merry Christmas… and say that… that… we are looking forward to taking your Illusions class next year."

"Aha," said Airelle, smiling as Tracy shot a death look at her friend. "Is that all?"

"Actually, Professor," murmured Tracy, despite the other girl's signals to be quiet, "there is something we wanted to tell you."

_Finally, _thought Airelle. "Yes, Miss Patts?"

"We—"

"—should be going to eat, all of you," came the words, but Tracy was not the one who'd spoken them. Closing her mouth, Tracy turned around, along with Alica. Airelle stayed next to her door, wondering how Albus Dumbledore always managed to appear at exactly the right moment in precisely the right place. It was a gift, she figured; the man was talented.

"Merry Christmas, Headmaster," she smiled. "And yes, we should all indeed head downstairs." In effect, Airelle was glad the wizard had shown up just then; Tracy and Alica could not shed any light on the notebook matter anyway. And if she really wanted to, Airelle could always corner them later. Perhaps she'd grown soft; as an Auror, she had never let people go like this before questioning. Or maybe she did not want to bother just now. Oh, bad excuse.

"I head there is a marvelous smell of chocolate wafting through the halls," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "The kitchen staff—" (by that he meant hundreds of house-elves) "—must have really outdone themselves this time."

"I am sure it will be wonderful," answered Airelle, now slightly abashed at addressing the Headmaster while looking like she'd just rolled out of bed – which she had, actually.

"Well then, Miss Tylon, Miss Patts," said Dumbledore, turning his head to the girls, "why don't you accompany me right now, and let's leave Professor Vilka to get ready."

Tracy and Alica could not complain, so they followed Dumbledore, still shooting mini-darts with their eyes at each other because of the notebook problem. _Maybe I should not bother them too soon about it, after all, _thought Airelle, grinning, and shut the door. But within two seconds, she opened it again because her nightgown had gotten stuck in the crack.

_God, Vilka, you've become so inattentive, _she scolded herself, albeit mildly. _You'd probably lose your own head if it weren't attached to your body._

When Airelle finally reached the Great Hall, she was met with a veritable explosion of morning light and chatter. Surprisingly enough, not many students had gone home for the holidays; perhaps regular people (if not the Ministry) were finally realizing the truth about Voldemort's return, Airelle thought. It seemed as if many parents did not want to risk it, and chose to keep their children safe at Hogwarts. (Or as safe as it could be, considering the Yule Ball attack.)

Warm, dry snow fell from the sky-blue ceiling as far as the floating candles and then vanished. True to the abounding rumor, the aforementioned candles had been bewitched so they shone different colours above the respective House tables. Gryffindor had scarlet; Hufflepuff, a cheerful yellow; Ravenclaw had blue; and the candles above the Slytherin table shone green. They looked like four rows of hovering, flickering Christmas lights. The walls were, as during the Yule Ball, decked out in holly, pine, and even the occasional tufts of mistletoe (under which, Airelle noticed, several girls were lounging around conspicuously).

She had entered through the main doors, not a side entrance; thus, Airelle had to walk through the House tables to reach her seat. Oddly enough, she chose to go on a whim between Ravenclaw and Slytherin, the two leftmost tables from her view. As she did so, Airelle noticed a huge amount of talking concerning Dumbledore and people kept glancing at the professors' table, where the Headmaster was chatting animatedly with Snape, who seemed to be in a slightly better mood than usual. Airelle knew this at once by his expression; instead of his usual sneer, there was merely a sour look on the Potions Master's face. Airelle grinned and then shifted her gaze to the students again. She caught the pale eyes of Draco Malfoy, and he looked away, as if afraid she'd read something in them.

_I do hope something smacks that boy over the head and stunts his growth into another Lucius, _thought the ex-Auror darkly. _After all, Malfoy, Sr. may have avoided the Ministry up until now, but when Voldemort strikes, he'll be there beside the Dark Lord. And I'll be waiting to catch the slimy git in the act. Finally._

She reached the other end, but stopped next to the edge of the Ravenclaw table, due to being accosted by Alica Tylon.

"Morning again, Professor!" she said brightly, holding up a mug of hot chocolate. Tracy, who was obviously not angry with Alica anymore and was right next to her, likewise saluted Airelle, this time with a piece of toast stuck on a fork.

"Yes, and Merry Christmas," Airelle replied to the girls, also nodding to the other Ravenclaws who were sitting nearby. "What seems to be the hot topic of discussion this morning?"

"Ohh," said Tracy, rubbing her palms together in anticipation, "Dumbledore is going to announce a surprise any minute now. He said it's his Christmas present to the students."

"Watch it be a gigantic cake," said Padma Patil, another Ravenclaw. "Maybe that's the good smell from the kitchens."

"Nah," replied Mel Bagpipe, another student. "I think the smell's just the breakfast pudding. I think it's going to be fuzzy slippers for everybody!"

"How about butterbeer?" offered someone else, and Alica grinned, turning beet red and facing away from Airelle's eyes.

"What about a dress-down day when school starts again?" called yet another voice.

"Ehh…what's a dress-down day?" a puzzled third-year asked.

"It's when students get to wear any clothes they want," said Airelle before Tracy could explain.

"How d'you know, Professor?"

"Well, I _did_ go to Muggle elementary school before Hogwarts," Airelle laughed, and many turned to look at her.

"Are you Muggle-born, Professor Vilka?" asked Padma Patil, spearing some sausage with her fork.

Airelle nodded. "That's right, and I love it because I get the best of both worlds."

"Wow!" said Alica. "I'm Muggle-born, too!"

"Are you?" Airelle asked, smiling.

"Yep."

"Great."

Tracy started to say, "Well, I happen to be—" But she was suddenly interrupted by another girl, who playfully clapped her hand over Tracy's mouth.

"Ah, Patts here…" she said with a grin, "…even we have no idea where she's from. She could've come from a chicken's egg like a basilisk for all we know!"

The Ravenclaws roared with laughter over Tracy's muffled protests (although her eyes were shining good-naturedly). Over the noise, Airelle could hear snorts from the Slytherins due to the basilisk comment. After years of knowing Snape, Airelle was sure it would be useful for all the Slytherins to lighten up, at least a little. Grinning, Airelle bid a temporary farewell to her House table and headed towards the Top Table. And as soon as she sat down between Professors Flitwick and Lupin, Dumbledore stood up, long amber and red robes swishing.

"Merry Christmas!" His voice echoed throughout the Great Hall, drowning out most excited conversations. "Since so many of you have stayed for the holidays, a few of my colleagues and I have decided to arrange a little surprise for you all. Call it our Christmas present."

A hush fell over the crowd, and all eyes focused on the Headmaster. He cleared his throat and continued speaking.

"The weather today is excellent, no?" When no one replied, he said, "Ah, never mind, you'll understand later. But, let me begin. I know that last year, with the Tri-Wizard Tournament, certain activities were canceled, most notably Quidditch. Now, I know since this September, the House teams have been training hard, and already have experienced the excitement of the sport—" (he smiled in the direction of the Gryffindors, who had won the latest game) "—and the adventure it brings. I also know that a few of you have still been feeling a little down since the unfortunate incident at the Yule Ball."

Some murmurs broke out. Neville Longbottom, Airelle noticed, sank down slightly in his chair at the Gryffindor table. She caught his eye and gave him a reassuring smile. He'd been looking much healthier, but more quiet since the night of the attack, when he'd been so energetic. She guessed the night's adrenaline had left him…

"So," continued Dumbledore, "I think we need to lift your spirits a little. Tonight, at six o'clock, there shall be an extra Quidditch game."

For a second, there was silence. And then, the tables erupted with cheers. It sounded like a Muggle hydrogen bomb had detonated right in the middle of the Great Hall. Airelle would have bet the tapestries on the walls were shaking. Juice glasses clanked merrily as students toasted each other. It was a full five minutes before Dumbledore called for silence again.

"The game," he said, "shall be between two houses selected at random." He then turned his eyes to a first-year sitting at the end of the Hufflepuff table, closest to him.

"Mr. Clancy," Dumbledore addressed the boy, who looked positively terrified.

"Sir, I… whatever it is, I didn't do it," he sputtered, and the whole Hufflepuff congregation exploded into hysterics. Dumbledore was also smiling when the laughter had subsided.

"Mr. Clancy, I only wanted to borrow your hat," the Headmaster said. The boy stared at the elder wizard as if he were nuts, but took his pointed hat off and shuffled over to the teachers' table. Dumbledore took it, and Clancy scurried off.

"Thank you," he said warmly. "And don't fear, I shall return it shortly. Now," he continued, turning the hat upside down, "since the episode with the Goblet of Fire, I've decided not to use it, at least with this minor matter. We shall do it the old way. In my left hand," (and at this he opened his palm, revealing several white things) "are four identical sheets of parchment, each with the name and symbol of a Hogwarts House on it. Now, we simply put them in the hat, kindly provided by Mr. 'I didn't do it' Clancy." He tipped the papers into the hat, and closed the flaps over the hole. "And now we shake it—" (he shook the hat vigorously and let the flaps spring open again) "—and voila!" Now we need, so as to make certain no one is going to bewitch anything… a professor."

Airelle gulped as Dumbledore swiveled his head to the end of her side of the table. For a second, she thought he'd pick Lupin, but then—

"Professor Vilka, would you do the honours?" he asked. Airelle, having no recourse, stood up, upset to leave her scrambled eggs, and walked around to the front, stopping directly in the center opposite Dumbledore. _Why did he have to choose me to do it?_

"Please put your wand on the table, and roll up your sleeves," he directed, and Airelle obliged. She never thought a simple, 'pull-out-of-the-hat' choice could be so ritualistic…

Dumbledore handed Clancy's hat to her and said, "Reach right in there and choose the two Houses which will be facing each other this afternoon."

"Here we go," she announced to the Great Hall, whose occupants listened with bated breath. As Airelle reached into the hat, she thought of all the Quidditch matches she'd played in as a Ravenclaw Chaser, and how strange it must have been for Snape to root for Slytherin and yet know that his best friend was often on the opposing team…

Her fingers felt a rough edge of parchment and she grabbed on. Pulling the piece out, Airelle unfolded it. She did not even have to see the name; only the symbol.

"Ravenclaw," she said loudly, and handed the paper to McGonagall as the House table in question broke out into clapping and whooping. Alica Tylon and Tracy Patts, among others, were jumping out of their seats with joy. Although Tracy kept maintaining that she had a hatred for sports of all shapes and sizes, it was well known that she was as avid a supporter of Quidditch as Alica. The other Ravenclaws were no less pleased, and clapped enthusiastically until Dumbledore quieted them again.

Airelle pursed her lips. What if the other house was Slytherin? Oh, she'd cheer for Ravenclaw, sure, but she also had a slight dilemma concerning Snape's reaction… they'd be on opposite sides of the field, again.

Her fist clutched the other sheet of paper and she drew it out of the hat slowly. The way her luck had been going lately, it was going to be Slytherin for sure. Every pair of eyes was on her. She unfolded the paper, read it to herself, and heaved out a deep breath.

"The second house is… Gryffindor."

The Gryffindors burst into applause, patting their Quidditch players on the backs. Faintly, Airelle could see Harry Potter, but he did not look too happy. Instead, his face was very concerned as he engaged in a conversation with his best friend Ron Weasley. Something was up, but Airelle could not place it as of yet. The excitement was too great; Hagrid was booming well-wishes to the Gryffindors diagonally from across the hall, probably bursting McGonagall's eardrums in the process. Dumbledore clapped with the rest, and restored silence one more time.

"The outcome shall not affect Quidditch Cup standing," he said; there was a groan from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, and sounds of relief from Hufflepuff and especially Slytherin. "However," the wizard continued, "the winning team shall receive eighty-eight points for their House."

"All RIGHT!" yelled Tracy from the Ravenclaw table, along with many others who were applauding. Eighty-eight points was not too big a number, but just enough to arouse interest. _And it could place Ravenclaw in the lead for the House Cup, if they win, _said Airelle to herself as she returned to her seat.

"Now, that's not all," added Dumbledore, and quiet reigned yet again. "I have prepared a Selection Spell that shall choose, from among the professors, the referee for today's game."

_Hmm…this should be interesting, _thought the Illusions professor. _The Spell will want a completely unbiased person, so it is safe to say that no one from Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, including myself, is eligible. It would be funny if it picked Snape… hehe, but no, he'd be prejudiced against Gryffindor, or I'll eat my hat. So, who's left? Maybe it shall be Professor Sprout… or Madam Hooch, even… it makes sense, she's the Quidditch teacher…_

The Headmaster raised his wand up over the Top Table and said, "Vibirat!"

A blinding light exploded from the tip of the wand, hovered above Dumbledore for a second, and then melted into a glowing white orb the size of a golf ball. It bounced up and down in the air, and everyone watched as it moved swiftly back and forth over the heads of the professors, trailing sparkling dust in its wake. It reached Lupin's end, then moved back to Snape, where it stopped. Everyone stared (the Gryffindors' faces had dropped), and Airelle was about sure that it was going to pick him… but no, it was now above Hagrid… and McGonagall…Sinistra, Flitwick, Dumbledore, back to Snape, Vector, Flitwick again, Sprout, Airelle, then Lupin once more… And then, it swerved sharply to the left.

And dropped directly into Airelle's pumpkin juice glass. The Illusions professor goggled at it in shock, then glanced at Dumbledore, who shrugged and smiled.

"The Spell has made its choice… the referee shall be Airelle Vilka, Professor of Illusions."

There was tumultuous clapping at the Ravenclaw Table, and even some among the Gryffindors. Most people trusted Airelle, and knew her to be a fair teacher towards all Houses. But still, even she was not certain. She'd always been a player or even an onlooker, but never a referee. Not the one with the power to give penalties… did someone jinx the Selection Spell or what? Oh, this was not her morning – chosen twice, yeesh.

"Well, that's all, finally," said Dumbledore. "You can finish your breakfast now, we won't bother you."

Conversations broke out immediately, and Airelle noticed Snape sweep out of the Great Hall. _Where is he going, I wonder?_ She was hoping to catch up, but was drawn into a talk with Flitwick on the fine points of dueling, watching the door all the while.

Airelle could not find Snape, even in the dungeons, and finally resigned herself to returning to her room empty-handed – or, rather, empty-minded. After giving Christmas presents to several of the teachers, she was trudging up a spiral staircase when she met Albus Dumbledore. He was holding a steaming mug of herbal tea and enchanting the railing to sparkle red and green whenever someone placed a hand on it.

"Ah, Airelle," he said, marking his last piece of railing with a flourish, "I was hoping to come upon you."

"Yes, Headmaster?" she asked, wondering what this was about. Had he found out something else about the Yule Ball incident?

"There is a slight problem with today's Quidditch game," said the wizard, smiling as if he knew what she'd been expecting.

"Indeed?" she asked, going up the steps so they'd be at eye level. "What is it, sir?"

"The Ravenclaw team is all here, but Harry Potter has informed me that two players are missing from the Gryffindors; a Chaser, and the Keeper, who happens to be the new team captain. They are very concerned."

"Oh, dear," said Airelle, thinking fast. So that was what Potter had been telling his friend at breakfast. "That's a… problem…hmm."

Dumbledore was looking at her intently. Airelle wanted so badly to say, 'You're always the one with all the answers, why don't you fix this?' But somehow, she had an idea that he asked her this for a reason. What could—

"Oi!" she exclaimed, clapping a hand to her forehead. "Eureka!"

"Tell me."

Airelle was speaking quickly now, and her face was radiant with joy. "What if--well, there's nothing in Quidditch rules, if I remember rightly…they say you can't switch players in the middle of a game… but if it were in the beginning…"

"I'm afraid I do not follow," said Dumbledore pleasantly, but Airelle had a feeling he knew exactly what she was going to suggest.

"Headmaster," she said, "since this is a special occasion, we may get two students to fill in for the two that are missing."

Dumbledore kept smiling as Airelle paced around the staircase, going up and down the same three steps as if she could wear them down. "That's it… it'll be a chance… it's absolutely perfect."

"But who in Gryffindor has the skill and the practice?"

She grinned up at the elder wizard. "I think, Headmaster, I know just the people…"

An hour later, Airelle Vilka stood outside the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, arguing intensely with the painting of the Fat Lady in front of her.

"I'm sorry, dear, but you need the password," said the portrait, ruffling her pink silk dress haughtily.

"What do I look like, a student?!" snarled Airelle, crossing her arms. I am a professor, for Merlin's sake!"

"Then, as a professor, you should know all the passwords."

"I forgot this particular one! It's not like I visit Gryffindor Tower often… can't a person get a break?"

The Fat Lady shrugged. "Sorry."

"Argh!" Airelle growled, kicking the air. "All right, then, I'll go back for the password, and I'll make the long trip back up here just for the purpose of yelling it in your face."

"Suit yourself," was the reply, and Airelle was just about to storm off when she bumped into someone.

"Ack—oh, excuse me, Professor!" It was Hermione Granger, and she was clutching a stack of books taller than Airelle. It was no wonder the girl couldn't see where she was going.

"Where on earth are you going with all of those?" asked Airelle, staring at her in disbelief.

"Oh—I was just…" panted Hermione, staggering over to the Fat Lady, "…tutoring some people in the library."

"Miss Granger," muttered Airelle, shaking her head and smiling, "that looks like the whole curriculum."

"Oh—well, here and there…" She reminded Airelle so much of herself, studious, running around with tons of books and papers. Except, of course, it wasn't likely that Granger went into the dungeons at night, like Airelle did.

"Well, goodbye, Professor, nice seeing you here…" she was saying. "Eh…oh, 'filibuster fireworks!'"

"That's better," grumbled the painting, and swung open. Airelle almost let the girl walk inside and leave her out there. Snapping out of her daze, she swept towards the frame and grabbed it before it shut.

"Miss Granger, I need to make an announcement in your common room," said Airelle hastily as the Fat Lady struggled to close.

"Oh, sure, Professor," Hermione replied, "come on in."

"Thank you." Airelle stumbled inside as the fifth-year Gryffindor dropped her load onto a table, causing people in the common room to jump and stare in their direction. _Oh, good, _thought Airelle as she recognized those she wanted to speak with. _Just the audience I need._

"Greetings," she began loudly, and most conversations stopped. The five remaining members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team – Fred and George Weasley, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and Harry Potter – were huddled together in a corner, and raised their heads as well.

"Merry Christmas," said Airelle. "I come bearing good news."

"What is it, Professor Vilka?" asked Ginny Weasley, peering from around a large, ruby-red armchair.

"Did Father Christmas get stuck in one of our chimneys?" grinned Fred Weasley.

"Or has someone turned Peeves into a plastic reindeer for the good of humanity?" added his twin George, and there were loud guffaws throughout the room.

"No, I'm afraid the news is not _that _good," grinned Airelle. "However, I have a feeling you shall find this piece of information better than anything else. Your Quidditch problem has been solved."

"You're serious, Professor?" asked Hermione, as Airelle headed towards a small table, where Ron Weasley was engaged in a game of wizard chess with Dean Thomas. He looked up just in time to see the Illusions professor towering over him.

"Eh… am I in a very nasty heap of trouble?" he asked.

Airelle laughed. "On the contrary, Mr. Weasley," she answered. "I've seen you on a broomstick. You have been, thanks to regard for your friend Mr. Potter, to all the Quidditch practices, and are familiar with their techniques. And you can often take quite a wallop from your sanity-challenged brothers." She looked pointedly at Fred and George, who shrugged and smiled angelically. "So… for this game, Mr. Weasley, you shall be the Gryffindor team's Keeper."

Ron stared at her as if she just told him he was the new Minister of Magic. "You're joking," said several people at once, including Ron himself.

"Not today," she replied. "You have until six o'clock… I believe that is… seven hours to practice – which you should, since your captain is not here to give you last-minute pointers. And that is not all." She crossed over to the fireplace, in front of which Neville Longbottom was poring over a Herbology textbook.

"Neville," she said, shining with delight like a proud parent that she'd never been, "here's your chance. You're going to be the Chaser they need for this game."

The boy brought the book down from his face and it fell on the floor. "I'm… I'm…a what??"

"But Professor," said Lee Jordan incredulously, "Neville is…well…" He trailed off, shrugging.

Airelle smiled. "Clumsy? Perhaps… but you'll be surprised how well he's been progressing."

"You've been giving him flying lessons?" asked Harry Potter, as Neville blinked in amazement at Airelle. She knew it was what he'd always wanted… to be on the Quidditch team just once… And since she'd been a Chaser herself, she had shown him Chaser air-tricks as well.

"That is correct," answered the professor, walking to the exit. "Let him show you what he can do with that broom of his. Good luck; I'll see you on the field at six."

And she walked out of the frame, leaving a very stunned Ron, a near-tearful Neville, a smiling Hermione Granger, and a wholly amazed Gryffindor House.

Airelle was practically skipping steps as she headed to her room to drop off some gifts she'd received from Flitwick, Dumbledore, and a few students. She felt happy for the first time in a while; she'd done something useful and good. And for Gryffindor, the opposing team, too. Snape was going to be apoplectic when he'd see Neville Longbottom, the infamous cauldron-melter, wearing gold and scarlet Quidditch robes.

And yet in the midst of her bliss, her Auror senses, though a bit dulled since her resignation, still informed her of a potential storm on the horizon. Voldemort would strike; she had no idea when or where. If the Yule Ball attack was just a preliminary test of Hogwarts security, this was bad. The perpetrator had gotten away squeaky clean, for the most part; a scouring of the Forbidden Forest was out of the question, and in any case, he was probably far away by now.

She turned the doorknob. Either that, or he was still in the school.

But no, that was next to impossible. Dumbledore would know… then again, he didn't know about the fake Moody until he almost killed Harry Potter… Great, there was a comforting thought.

Airelle shook her head. Why had all these fears suddenly come back to her on Christmas Day? Just her lucky sense of paranoia, of course. Always brought her to a pit in the earth during the happiest moments.

Balancing her gifts under one arm, she pushed open the door with her other shoulder. But before she even walked inside, Airelle's internal alarms went off. There was someone else in the room. How had she known? It was easier than usual to figure out; her bedroom window was open. She'd left it closed since the previous night.

The curtains ruffled gently in the breeze, and a dead silence reigned. Airelle's muscles grew tense; 'dead' was not the word she wanted to think of at that moment. She twitched her free right arm, and her wand slid down the sleeve into her hand, which was already ice cold. From what she could tell, there was no one near the bed; she could see nothing in the mirror, or in the open closet. So, that only left one place…

The process only took a second. She dropped the packages on the floor, and whirled around to the other side of the door, raising her wand lightning-quick to the throat of—

"Jumpy, are we?" asked Snape, looking at her calmly from the end of her wand.

Airelle shook her head and dropped her shoulders in frustration. "…Are you _trying_ to get yourself fried… extra crispy?"

The Potions professor kept a perfectly straight face. "I merely wished to pay you a holiday visit, since I did not get to do so this morning. Is that a crime?"

"No, but standing behind my door like an assassin is liable to get you killed. You're crazy!"

"Calm down," he replied, gliding past her and taking a seat on the chair opposite her bed. "I also wanted to make sure your skill hasn't gone down too far since your arrival here."

"Thank you for your thoughtfulness, but I'd prefer you warn me first."

Snape looked up. "Voldemort does not warn before he murders."

"All right, all right, it's useless to argue with you," said Airelle resignedly, bending to pick her gifts up off the floor. "So, where'd you disappear to this morning after breakfast?"

"You'll find out soon enough," his voice replied from behind her. "Have you heard about the Quidditch game yet?"

"Oh, yes," said Airelle, smiling and closing the door. "The Gryffindor team… is two members short."

"I suppose they shall just have to play with the five who are here," said Snape, his eyes glittering, not without pleasure. "They won't stand a chance, especially if the Ravenclaws are still as good as they were two years ago."

"Uh-huh," said Airelle slyly. Here was where she'd get to spoil the whole thing. Strangely enough, she was enjoying it, in a friendly manner. "But, umm… didn't you hear of what has been decided concerning the problem?"

Snape's smile dropped, just a little. "What?"

"Ah, nothing much," she answered, twirling a strand of her hair in a childish manner. "Just that… they're substituting players. Two students are taking the place of a Chaser and a Keeper."

"Who?"

"Ron Weasley as the Keeper, and…" She paused, relishing her next words and watching Snape carefully. "Neville Longbottom as the Chaser."

To Airelle's surprise, Snape chuckled softly. "I take it this was your idea?" he asked, crossing his arms.

She stared at him. "What if it was?…"

"Well, I hate to disappoint you, but that shall not do the Gryffindors any good. Weasley might provide for a semi-useful Keeper, but Longbottom, that bumbling embarrassment to wizardhood – he shall humiliate his House in front of the entire school."

Airelle snorted, and leaned against the door. "We shall see about that," she scoffed. "I have been teaching him, as you must know by now… and I have to say, the attack seemed to have improved his drive to learn."

"You are becoming too hopeful," said Snape. "Be realistic, Airelle."

"Well, I happen to think—"

"Just whom are you rooting for?" he interrupted, his eyes boring into hers. "Don't tell me you've abandoned your own House for the opposing team."

"I don't favor anyone," she harrumphed, moving towards her bed and sitting on it. "Unlike _somebody_ I know."

"I'll pretend I did not hear that," said Snape coolly, and reached into his robes. For a second, just a second, Airelle thought he was actually going to pull out his wand and hex her. _My God, have the nightmares affected you this much, you great big prat? He's not a Death Eater anymore, remember?_

"This is why I left early this morning," he muttered, standing up and holding his palm out to her. On it was a medium-sized box, wrapped in bright emerald paper. Airelle took it and began to laugh.

"You waited until now to go to Hogsmeade and get me a Christmas gift?" she chortled good-naturedly. "Typical of you, Snape."

"You know, of course, I got you this only because of its apparent necessity, not because of some imbecilic holiday."

"Of course. And don't worry, I still won't tell anyone that the feared Potions Master actually got someone a present," Airelle kept laughing. He had always bought her very useful gifts during their student days; obviously, he had not since then… this was the first gift she'd received from him in nearly twenty years. As for the vice versa scenario – she was probably the only person from whom he'd ever received gifts in general. After all, other than his parents (who were now dead), and Dumbledore, Airelle was probably the only one who knew her friend's birthdate.

"Don't shake it," warned Snape as she brought the box to her ear. "It is fragile."

"I guessed," she replied. "It's so lightweight… may I open it?"

"No," he frowned. "I'd rather you waited until next Christmas."

Airelle snickered. "I take that as a yes." She reached to open the box, when—

"Oh, wait!" she exclaimed. "Before I unwrap mine… I forgot… it's only fair…"

She jumped up, leaving the gift on her bed, and knelt down, disappearing halfway under the folds of curtains reaching from the canopy. She emerged from under the bed, coughing, with a large and dusty box in her arms.

"What?" she asked when Snape raised his eyebrows. "I hide things under the bed. Is that worthy of a place in St. Mungo's or something?"

"No," he shook his head, and Airelle gave him the box. "What are you looking at?" Snape asked, seeing her watching him.

"Just waiting to see your reaction, that's all."

"This is childish," he frowned. "How many times have we done this? Open simultaneously, it saves time."

"Just humor me," she replied, putting the small box in her lap again.

"I do not humor anyone," Snape answered, but pulled on the ribbon anyway. He tried to open the box with his hands, but failed; meanwhile, Airelle was trying extremely hard not to laugh.

"How the hell did you wrap this?" he mumbled, getting irritated and pulling out his wand.

"It's glue… a Muggle invention. It sticks to things to keep them together. Like Spello-Tape," she said, now smiling outright (it was safe to do so because Snape was still busy with the box).

"Muggles make the strangest things," he muttered, scowling, and pointed his wand in a murderous manner at the box. "Abrete!"

The edges sprang open with a pop, and Airelle turned her face away, coughing as the Cushion Spell inside it dispersed into the atmosphere, collecting in a gray cloud around Snape's head at the moment. When it cleared, the Potions professor looked no less aggravated than he did before he opened it.

"Have a look inside," urged Airelle, sitting cross-legged on the bed now and fixing her collar. Snape looked at her for a second, then down into the box. One of his black-sleeved arms reached into it and—

"A candle-holder?"

"I'm so proud of myself; I bought it spontaneously at Diagon Alley when I was buying supplies, before I even knew I was going to meet you," she replied, smiling. Snape, in the meantime, turned it over in his hands. The shape was that of a silver snake, curling up in spirals around a pike as tall as the length of Airelle's head. Its eyes were made of black obsidian; the head was flat and supported the candle. But the most interesting thing was that the snake had wings; webbed and silver, like those of bats or dragons, they were spread out from the top half of its body in a half-aggressive and totally impressive fashion. The tongue was as black as the eyes, and slid out through the closed, lipless mouth in an arrogant and seductive fork. Airelle, for her part, had no idea why she'd bought it in the first place; it had not been because of a premonition or anything. She just liked the wings, and often, she grew tired of all the eagle Ravenclaw figures in her room. Airelle had actually planned of leaving the blasted thing at her Muggle home altogether, but it had somehow ended up in her travel trunk, bound for Hogwarts. Go figure.

"It's not just any candle-holder," she added, sounding even to herself like she was part of a TV show, telling the contestant what he'd won. "It is a Correspondence Candle-Holder."

"I have never heard of those," he replied, tracing a fingertip over the outline of the projecting wings slowly and deliberately, as if memorizing every curve.

"That's because they're very rare… used by Ministry heads and all," she answered. "I bought this one in an antiques shop."

"How does it work?"

"Easy. Every candle that is lit in this holder automatically becomes bewitched. If you have some important letter and do not wish anyone to see it without your knowledge, you can hold it up to the flame and it will burn without ashes. Then, if you need the letter again, you simply light the candle, hold your hand over the fire, say a password of your choice, and something to identify the particular letter, and you'll get it back."

"So this regurgitates letters that you want for your eyes only?"

"That's right."

"Excellent," he said, looking Airelle in the eyes. "I shall make good use of it."

"You better," she replied, dropping her gaze to the box in her own lap. "I would've kept it myself."

"Now open yours," he said, and Airelle did not bother with manual labor. She simply drew her wand and used a spell to peel the wrapping open. A rush of wind flew at her, and she recognized it as an Air Confinement Charm, combined with a mild Sleeping Charm. But you'd only need an Air Confinement Charm for something that was… breathing…

She pulled out the wire-mesh, and sure enough, it was a cage. And inside, on the floor, was cuddled a heap of feathers the size of a tennis ball. It ruffled, shaking off the Sleeping Charm, stuck out its head from the rest of its body, and blinked its huge, chocolate-brown eyes at Airelle's black ones. She could see her startled reflection in them. The creature clicked its beak and hooted expectantly.

"Holy smokin' gnomes!" she exclaimed. "You've gotten me an owl!"

"Your expanse of vocabulary," said Snape with a hint of amusement, "never ceases to amaze me."

Airelle wasn't even able to come up with a quip to counteract her friend's; she was too busy goggling at the owl. It seemed to have awakened completely and was now jumping up and down, reminding Airelle of herself when she'd had one too many butterbeers.

Snape watched as the Illusions professor opened the cage and scooped the bird out, holding it tightly as if it would fly off. "Wow," said Airelle as it nipped her finger affectionately, "he—"

"She," Snape corrected. "Hogsmeade is having a Christmas fair tonight, apparently, and I bought her from a passing dealer. Maybe unwise, but I checked her for jinxes and she seems clean."

"She," Airelle repeated, "looks just like Excalibur. The same enormous brown eyes… except, of course, this one is black-feathered."

"I must confess," said Snape, "I've seen dark gray owls, but never a pure black one before. I had to run her through spells to make certain she wasn't transfigured before I bought her. The dealer was not pleased; I believe he took offense at the fact that I found him untrustworthy."

"You had reason; I've never seen one like this either," replied Airelle. Ever since Excalibur's untimely demise, she had used Ministry business owls to deliver her Auror messages and stay with her during the holidays. But she had never had another, personal owl, until now.

"What shall I call you?" she wondered aloud as the little owl sank its claws into her wrist in a very homely manner, using it as a perch. She suddenly recalled her stay in the Hospital Wing after the Runespoor accident. Airelle had received a small pile of get-well gifts then, but only had a chance to open them the week before Christmas. A certain one had caught her attention – oddly enough, it was from Alica and Tracy. No, not a Dungbomb, as Airelle had feared… but a book, a Muggle fantasy entitled _Avalon_. Airelle, being a fan of Arthurian legend, had read it before, but it had been a nice addition to her mini-library nonetheless. Now, her mind wandered back to it, and –

"Avalon," she announced, petting the inky-black feathers. "Henceforth, your name is Avalon."

The owl hooted again; she seemed to like it. Apparently, so did Snape.

"A tribute to Excalibur, I see," he said, and Airelle nodded slowly.

"Thank you," she replied. "I've wanted an owl for a long time, but never thought I'd find one that reminded me of Excalibur so much."

Snape's subsequent expression told her he'd acknowledged her thanks. His eyes went down to the Correspondence Candle-Holder once more, and he placed it back in the box, from which tattered remnants of wrapping paper were still hanging like shiny streamers.

Airelle rose and set Avalon's empty cage close to the windowsill, leaving the little owl to bounce around in a half-hysterical fashion on her shoulder. She glanced back at her friend, who was now staring sullenly in the direction of her bedpost.

The Illusions professor had meant for her next remark to be funny, witty, or even encouraging. But instead –

"So you're worried, too."

He looked up at her, and his eyes were tired. Obviously, the Christmas Spirit of relaxation, however little it had affected Airelle, hadn't touched him at all. "Yes," was all he said; but that one word meant anxious days, sleepless nights, and a troubling emptiness of the heart.

Airelle stood next to him near the table, as if her presence there could alleviate anything, and stared down at the floor. When she finally could not take counting another crack in the stone anymore, the ex-Auror slammed her fist down on the table so hard that Avalon zoomed, screeching, to the opposite side of the room.

"Damn it!" she said loudly, clenching her teeth as hard as her fist. "Why did that coward not show his face at the Yule Ball? He left us all here high and dry, waiting for another strike… Fudge is still being a stubborn idiot… and this happens right before Christmas, to ruin our holiday and keep us all sitting on pins and needles!"

"Voldemort's followers are like that, Airelle," said Snape calmly. For a second, it made her wonder if he'd been that cowardly himself. During that time, she had only seen him once, unknowingly, but what about all the other years he'd spent as a Death Eater? "Do you think a coward," he continued, "would go against Dumbledore, or anyone here?"

"I know, Snape, I know," she replied, frustrated. "It's just…"

"You want to help me, and cannot," he finished. Airelle stared at him.

"What do you mean, I cannot help?"

"Voldemort shall call on me anytime soon," said Snape darkly. "One of two things will then occur: either he explains to us all what has happened, or he shall accuse me of treason and kill me."

"Snape, you can't! Dumbledore—"

"—can do nothing, Airelle. If I do not go when I am called, then Voldemort will surely know I am working for his enemy's cause… and then, not even Hogwarts shall be safe for me. No, I must bear it out and see what the Dark Lord can tell me about last week's attack."

Airelle sighed. Snape was right; if Voldemort were involved, as the Dark Mark suggested, then he'd be the last hope to figure out who attacked Neville and Delilah. And if Delilah Haze did not awaken – then Voldemort would be the only hope.

"I swear, Snape," she muttered after a while, "if Voldemort murders you… I will decapitate him, gouge out his eyes, and turn his scaly head into a Muggle bowling ball…"

The Potions Master chuckled sardonically. "Believe me, many people would love to see that happen. Unfortunately, I must maintain my charade, and so do you."

"How?"

"Play stupid; pretend you do not suspect anything. Voldemort may be evil and insane, but it is his intelligence that has gotten him to the point where most wizards are terrified to speak his name. If he is behind the attack, he shall be watching us. And the last thing I need is for you to end up in his clutches."

Airelle gazed at Snape; rarely had she seen him this distressed. It was his eyes that showed it; on the top was that same impenetrable exterior. But she knew him better than that.

"Everything you say makes absolute sense," she replied, "except for one measly detail: have you somehow FORGOTTEN that you're risking your life here? If you die—"

"If I die," Snape interrupted, matter-of-factly, "it shall be for mistakes of the past, not the choices I make now. You must understand that, if you are to work with me."

Airelle sighed. _But you've made amends for your past by now. You don't deserve to die, _she thought. _You've left once already, on Graduation Night. You'll never know it, but I don't think I'll be able to deal with it a second time._

Avalon broke the ensuing silence, flying with a sweep of small black wings back onto Airelle's shoulder. As with Excalibur, this one could feel Airelle's pain as well. Oh, bad word. This was not pain yet, mere anxiety. Airelle hoped the real pain would never come.

"Well… I suppose we can maybe strike this out of our agenda, at least for today," she finally said, semi-pleadingly, as if this were the last Christmas in ages. She had to admit that even thinking about the possibility of Voldemort's actions was unpleasant. Snape was silent; his face was still drawn.

"We have put extra spells up," continued Airelle, looking outside the window. "We even have security trolls…and besides, the Quidditch game should start – wait a minute!"

She leaned out of the window, and sure enough, there were crowds filing toward the gigantic playing field. The predominant colors were red and blue, and many carried giant signs and flags.

"Oh, dear… Snape," she exclaimed, "it's almost six! I'm refereeing, I must go!"

She went to the doorway, but stopped when her friend did not move.

"Aren't you coming?" she asked, nudging Avalon off her shoulder and motioning her toward the direction of the Owlery for food and rest.

"Perhaps," said Snape idly. "I'll think about it."

"Well," she answered, "I have to leave, but… all right, suit yourself." As always, it did not do any good to argue. Perhaps it was better that she'd leave him to his plans, anyway. "Avalon, get _off_ me!"

It was no use; it seemed like the owl was glued to her robe. Avalon hooted happily and nipped Airelle's ear, blinking her oversize eyes like a cherubim.

"All RIGHT!" she sighed defeatedly. "You can come to the Quidditch game with me."

Snape just shook his head as the owl jumped up and down joyfully, nearly tearing Airelle's collar to shreds.

"Persistent little thing, aren't you?" Airelle asked as she gestured a farewell to Snape and headed downstairs toward the Quidditch field. "But don't you even _think_ of broomriding with me during the game. I don't want any backseat dri… err, fliers."

To Be Continued…

A/N: Avalon's name is dedicated to one of my close friends, who is a far greater fan of Arthurian legend than I am; you know who you are. hug


	17. Christmas Quidditch

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 17 Christmas Quidditch

The afternoon was clear and bright; the crystal winter sun reflected off the thin blanket of white on the ground – it had not snowed for an entire week. With Avalon still on her shoulder and her Nimbus 2001 in hand, Airelle walked swiftly toward the field. She had picked up an old set of robes, including a warm over-cloak, on the way from a house-elf. She did not want her professor's robes damaged by a stray Bludger or even a stray player. She'd seen too many referees get whacked inadvertently by a broomstick handle, or worse.

As she walked, Airelle muttered several Shielding Charms for self-protection. Normally, any Quidditch referee needed to be an expert flier; Airelle's Auror license was proof enough for that. She blinked at the sky and wished for a good pair of Muggle sunglasses, but instead settled for a well-placed Dimming Illusion on her eyes. Shooing Avalon off for a brief moment, the ex-Auror also encased herself to stop her robes from billowing and tangling in the wind. The last thing a referee required was obstructed vision.

The field loomed ahead, giant and alive with hundreds of people up in the stands. Some of the professors were there as well, but Airelle did not see Dumbledore or any of the teams. Thus, her conclusion was that the game would not start for at least another twenty minutes. Retightening her ponytail, the Illusions professor made her way to the far side, where Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, was conversing with McGonagall.

"Madam Hooch?" she called out, and the two looked up. McGonagall's glasses were pushed up, slightly askew, and there was a slightly worried look in her eyes. Possibly, it was because of the player substitution for the Gryffindors. But then again, this was just a fun game, not a chance to get closer to the Quidditch Cup…

"Ah, Airelle," said the Transfigurations professor, her chin hidden by a thick red scarf with gold edges. McGonagall, like Snape, had worn black almost all the time that Airelle had ever seen her; but for matches, she would always put on some accessory to signify her pride of her House. Airelle suddenly realized she had not worn anything blue. But referees were supposed to be impartial. If she had strutted out there in blue robes, that would be blatant support of one team. Plus, someone could even mistake her for a player and foul her. Airelle did not need anything broken at the moment.

"Hello, Minerva," she answered back, trying to direct Avalon towards the stands where a blanket of blue told of the presence of Ravenclaw supporters. McGonagall's eyes flew to the little owl, and Airelle smiled apologetically.

"Oh, this is Avalon… she insisted on accompanying me as far as the – ow! – field."

"I see," said the other professor. "Well, just make certain that she is away from the field when the game begins."

"Certainly," said Airelle. "Err…are you presiding over the commentary, Professor?"

A thin smile stretched McGonagall's face. "The day I stop keeping my eye on Lee Jordan shall be the advent of the Apocalypse."

At that, both Airelle and Madam Hooch laughed. Lee Jordan was the Weasley twins' best friend, and had a tendency to make some of the most… interesting… commentaries Hogwarts had ever heard.

"If you say so," said Airelle. "Madam Hooch, may I take a few loops around the field? I haven't flown in a while." In truth, she had practiced just the other day with Neville; Airelle merely wanted to get the feeling of flying before a crowd again.

"Go ahead," said the witch, and Airelle did not need to be told twice. She bounced up on her Nimbus like a feather, and streaked up a hundred feet into the cool winter air before starting to circle around the field, Avalon still at her side. Below, she could see the distribution of the crowd clearly – on one side, scarlet and gold banners glinted in the sun, saying things like 'Roar, Lions!' and 'Eighty-Eight to Make Gryffindor Great!' There was even an old, tattered one flashing 'Potter for President' in the top stand. Airelle flew lower and squinted, and sure enough, the banner was held by Hermione Granger on one end and Hagrid on the other. The huge gamekeeper towered above everyone, and Airelle could hear his voice even from her vantage point. On the other side, velvety blue banners decorated the stands, accompanied by profuse cheering – the Ravenclaws. On the edges, and scattered between the crowds, were members of the other two houses, dressed in neutral black. Many of them were on the Gryffindor end, but quite a good deal were on the Ravenclaw one as well.

Another voice invaded Airelle's ears just then – Lee Jordan had apparently gotten up to the booth and was warming up.

"And that is Professor Vilka circling up there on her Nimbus, and now, zooming towards the Ravenclaw end of the crowd – she'll be refereeing the game, and what an excellent flier indeed – played for the Ravenclaw team back in her day, Professor McGonagall tells me… and it is evident, the lady is a Chaser to the bone… ahem, anyway, here comes Headmaster Dumbledore, and it looks like the players are just about to file onto the field."

Airelle looked down and saw Dumbledore's amber robes swish towards his seat, accompanied by Professor Lupin. There was no sign of the teams yet; they must still be in the locker rooms. _No sign of Snape, either, _she thought. _Perhaps he is still in my room, fascinated by the candle-holder. _Airelle smiled and swooped to the field, halting a few meters above the ground next to the Ravenclaw end.

"HELLO, Professor!" roared a voice, and she turned around on her broom. Alica Tylon and Tracy Patts were close by, waving at her with a huge blue flag that they both had to hold to keep it from falling. It depicted a shimmering eagle, soaring above two pictures – a black raven and a clawed foot.

Tracy, seeing Airelle staring, shouted over the noise, "See, Professor Vilka? Raven…Claw."

"Very amusing, Miss Patts," she replied, now noticing another bird, drawn directly below the raven. It was large and dark brown, with a pinkish-red bald head. "But… what on earth is that creature?" If she didn't know any better, it looked like a…

Alica turned the flag around to see what the professor was pointing at, and laughed. "Oh, that would be Edwin."

Avalon, who had been hiding in Airelle's collar, finally peeked out as Airelle asked, "Edwin? I do not think we've been introduced."

"My pet turkey vulture," said Alica as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I've had him ever since I was born. My great-grandfather Newt gave him to me… thought Edwin was an owl – blame the poor man's vision. But in any case, Edwin delivers my letters well… but he does not get along with the owls, so Headmaster Dumbledore allowed me to keep him at Hagrid's, even though Professor McGonagall protested—oh, my word!"

Alica nearly dropped the flag in her rush to get to the front stand. "Oh, wow!" she exclaimed. Airelle blinked. Tracy, meanwhile, assumed the same expression and began grinning like a hyena.

"What?" asked Airelle incredulously.

"What, she says," muttered Alica, climbing over the front row and kicking some people in the process. "You have an owl in your collar!"

"Oh, this little critter?" said Airelle, finally realizing what they'd been looking at. Avalon climbed out completely and sat on her shoulder, hooting happily. "This is Avalon."

"She's adorable…" Tracy was saying, petting the black feathers gingerly. Avalon nipped the girl's finger affectionately.

"Oh," said Airelle, seeing her window of opportunity, "if you like her so much, can you two convince her to stay with you until the game is over? I cannot really have her flying around up there, it's too dangerous."

"Yeah, sure, Professor," replied Alica, taking Avalon in her hands. "Someone might mistake her for a Snitch covered in tar."

Tracy snorted, but Airelle was not amused. "Thank you, girls," she sniffed, and floated away, leaving the two chortling behind her. They seemed to have forgotten all about the notebook. For some reason, it made Airelle regret that she had not told Dumbledore anything about the incident. Perhaps if she had said something, the attack could have been prevented… But then again, she'd have to explain how she knew about the not-so-secret room in the first place… and who opened the cabinet…

Lee Jordan's voice drowned out Airelle's thoughts yet again. "And here come the Ravenclaw team!" he announced. Airelle looked back to see seven blue-robed figures emerge from the locker room, the first being their new Seeker, a fifth year called Terry Boot. The team had an excellent one the previous year, a now-graduate named Cho Chang. She had been the girlfriend of Cedric Diggory, the boy who was murdered by Voldemort. Boot now seemed determined to make the history of the former Seeker proud. Ravenclaw cheers filled the air.

Airelle reached Madam Hooch, who gave her a whistle and some instructions. Out of the corner of her eye, the Illusions professor saw a tall, slender figure in black robes sit at the very edge of the Ravenclaw end.

_So Snape decided to come after all. Interesting, _she thought, and after accepting a 'good luck' from Madam Hooch (after all, referees had been known to mysteriously disappear during games and turn up in the Sahara Desert), she soared towards the center, where Boot and the rest of the Ravenclaws were receiving last-minute pointers from their captain. Lee Jordan's voice boomed over the crowd again.

"Nice entrance, Ravenclaws, and now, the Gryffindor team is coming onto the field."

Airelle turned to see what was happening. There was a roar from the crowd as Neville Longbottom was the first to step onto the snowy grass. He had donned spare red Quidditch robes and was smiling nervously. Right after him came Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and the Weasley twins, Fred and George. They all looked fairly confident, and walked towards Airelle and the center circle. Lee Jordan began speaking again.

"The Gryffindor team is sporting two new members, as all the reserves and two players are out for the holidays… those are Ronald Weasley, and Neville Longbottom… and I am sure they will make this game a great and interesting event."

Airelle stared at the ground as Neville and the rest stopped next to her. She suddenly remembered Snape's words concerning Longbottom: _"…that bumbling embarrassment to wizardhood – he shall humiliate his House in front of the entire school…"_

_ God, I hope not, _she thought, and looked up. "All right, people," said Airelle to the teams, pursing her lips, "this is an extra treat for you all, so I don't want any trouble. Make trouble, and I'll make you acquainted with the Jelly-Legs Curse. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor," they chorused, grinning.

"Good." She put the whistle close to her mouth. "Shake hands…"

"And they're off!" roared Lee Jordan from somewhere high up as fifteen broomsticks rose like rockets into the air above the crowds. "Gryffindor in immediate possession of the Quaffle, beautiful work there, Alicia – she is streaking along like the wind…"

And the wind it was. Airelle barely had time to turn her eyes as the players zoomed past her. She'd never refereed before, and did not know how to keep an eye on all of them. Finally, she decided to go higher and take a wider scope. It worked; it was just like practice broom-riding during her Auror training. Wham!—the Quaffle was overtaken in mid-air by Ravenclaw, with a madly howling crowd -- it all went so fast, Ravenclaws scored, then Gryffindors…

Before Airelle knew it, the score was forty-thirty, Gryffindors in favour. She focused her attention on the Gryffindor Chasers… and—

"Wow!" shrieked Lee Jordan as if he'd just seen angels descend from the sky. "Neville Longbottom intercepts the Quaffle, he is… oh, wow!—"

Even Harry Potter paused on his broom and watched with the rest of the crowd as Neville sped towards the goal posts toward the Ravenclaw Keeper, the red Quaffle under his arm. "WOW! —" Lee Jordan was still shouting, "come ON, Neville! I'm telling you, this guy is zooming there, marvelous, and he's not even on a Firebolt--"

"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall's stern tone did not illustrate pleasure. "Get on with it!"

But Jordan wasn't listening; Gryffindors had scored due to Neville, and the crowds exploded. Airelle had time to see Harry Potter's mouth hanging open before he resumed searching for the Golden Snitch. Neville was tearing back towards a Ravenclaw Chaser, who now had the Quaffle, and Airelle wondered if Snape was kicking himself in the head watching this. It was amazing – Neville's dream had come true, and he was clearly enjoying every second of it. He seemed a different person up here between the clouds and the earth – more confident, like a turtle…so clumsy on land, but as graceful as a stingray in the water. So it was here, in the air.

"Fifty-thirty… nope, Ravenclaws score again, fifty-forty, better pick it up there-- hey, wait, is that--"

Airelle turned on her broom just in time to careen out of the way of Harry Potter, who, she recognized, was performing a Wronski Feint the likes of which she'd rarely seen among adult players. The other Seeker, Terry Boot, had noticed this and nose-dived after Potter. Of course, the Snitch was not near the ground; Potter was merely trying to outmaneuver Boot on his superior broomstick ("Look at that Firebolt go! That swoop…"--"JORDAN!" -- "Sorry, Professor…") But where was—

Airelle suddenly noticed a gold glimmer shoot past her. She whirled, and saw it. The Golden Snitch was hovering right near her broomstick, using it as protection. She hesitated--Gryffindors were in the lead; should she move and let Potter see it? But then…then, the Ravenclaws would lose. And Airelle was a Ravenclaw… but she was supposed to be impartial…

_See, this is why they should not have picked me as referee, _said Airelle to herself, and flew upwards, leaving the Snitch floating freely in midair. Potter spotted it, but the little winged ball had bolted by the time Potter's Firebolt reached the place. Airelle turned her attention to the Ravenclaw team, who seemed to be having trouble getting the Quaffle past Ron Weasley. He was, at the moment, performing a Starfish and Stick move in front of the goal-posts, and the Ravenclaw Chasers were finding it difficult to score. Neville, meanwhile, had joined Katie Bell in a double attack on the Ravenclaws, taking the Quaffle from them…

"And Longbottom does it again-- sixty-forty… Ravenclaws in possession now…about to score, wait, Alicia Spinnet intercepts…Ravenclaw Chaser Jones takes it back-- oh, this is an aerial fight!-- Katie Bell takes it…ten more points for Gryffindor! Score is seventy-forty… nope, seventy-fifty…Longbottom is--whoa!"

Airelle spun on her Nimbus to see Neville gyrate out of control on his broom. He regained his balance, but Airelle knew what had occurred – he'd been fouled by Jones, who was looking apologetic. Airelle had no choice, however…

"Professor Vilka awards a penalty to Gryffindor," announced Lee Jordan, and was greeted by boos from the Ravenclaw crowd. "Ten more points put away, Gryffindor in possession, score is eighty-fifty."

Just then, Fred Weasley swung a Bludger that Airelle did not see. Apparently, it was meant to knock off Jones, but as Airelle rose up, she only heard the whoosh of air seconds before it smacked into her side.

"Ouch!" yelled Lee Jordan as Airelle doubled over in pain, glaring at Fred, for lack of doing anything else. "That must have hurt… Professor Vilka hit hard by a Bludger, let's see if she's okay…"

Airelle straightened up after a short time; she'd been hit by harder things than that. Now, that only left one question… should she award Ravenclaw a penalty, like Snape would if he'd been refereeing?

Airelle raised a hand.

"She's all right, only an accident," said Jordan, and Fred heaved a big sigh somewhere behind Airelle's back. In the stands, she could hear cheers from the Gryffindors. Maybe she should have taken out that penalty after all…

"Ravenclaw in possession now…Potter and Boot still circling up there like birds of prey… no sign of the Snitch for fifteen minutes…"

Airelle watched Jones and another Ravenclaw Chaser throw the Quaffle back and forth, surpassing Katie Bell and Neville, and score another ten points past Ron Weasley, who looked furious.

"And the score is eighty-sixty!" yelled Lee Jordan in accompaniment to cheers from the Ravenclaws. "Alicia Spinnet in possession of the Quaffle, ducks a Bludger by the Ravenclaw Beater, whirls around Jones – ducks another Bludger—" (Airelle watched carefully and stayed well away from the said Bludger as it flew under her) "and…score! Ninety-sixty!"

More Gryffindor cheers came from below. Airelle gripped her broom-handle, and dropped like a stone for ten meters, taking a semi-safe position close to the Ravenclaw goal-posts. Most of the players were on the other side at that point; Ravenclaw Chasers held the Quaffle—

"Jones scores… ninety-seventy… Longbottom grabs the Quaffle, he's really pushing his broom out there—"

Airelle saw the red blur that was Neville go straight towards her and the goal posts. She flew out of the way and recognized the zigzag movement as one of the tricks she'd taught the boy herself. _Nice, very nice_.

"Longbottom scores!" roared Lee Jordan, and the stadium exploded. "Great job…never would've thought…score is one hundred to seventy…"

Airelle watched Neville pull out of a short dive next to the goal posts. He caught her eye before heading back, and smiled. Neville Longbottom, smiling while fifty meters in the air—a moment to remember.

"And Chaser Jones in possession of the Quaffle…some excellent players the Ravenclaws have here-- he scores…hundred-eighty… Katie Bell seizes the Quaffle now, guarded closely by Fred Weasley…go, Katie, she passes it to Alicia—oh, wait! Quaffle taken by Jones again!—what an intercept, and he's up there, flying towards Ron Weasley—better watch out, Ron—he saves it, but…no, Jones does a superb Reverse Pass to his fellow Chaser--Ravenclaws score again! Hundred-ninety!"

Airelle blinked into the wind, which had now picked up somewhat, and saw Harry Potter turn around and around on his broom amid the cheers. He had apparently spotted something, but was not sure whether it had been the Snitch. Boot was flying close by, also staring around like a hawk. Turning her attention back to the rest of the players, Airelle found that the Ravenclaws had scored again—it was hundred-hundred even. Oh, dear.

"What a game," Lee Jordan was saying, "too bad this won't count towards the cup—we should really have the number of points for each house according to the number they win in the game—heh, sorry, Professor—anyway, Gryffindor Chaser Spinnet has the Quaffle—she decides to pass it to Longbottom—WAIT! IS THAT THE SNITCH?"

Potter had swooped down suddenly, and a murmur ran through the crowds. At first, Airelle thought he was doing another Wronski Feint—but—

"Oh, no," she said aloud, but no one heard her.

Sure enough, there was the Snitch, at the bottom of the field, hovering just feet from the ground. Airelle only saw it as a glimmer of gold in the distance, but Potter—

"He dives!" yelled Lee Jordan as Harry hurtled past Neville, who scored again, taking advantage of the distracted Ravenclaw Keeper. Boot went after him as everyone cheered – people were jumping out of their seats – Airelle flew closer to see, and…

Harry Potter pulled out of the dive, looking surprised. The Snitch had disappeared—or did it?

Terry Boot, who had arrived there about the same time, was also staring around wildly. No one had seen the Snitch fly off, so…

Airelle looked around the field. Lee Jordan was beginning to say something, when Harry caught Airelle's attention again. He seemed to have realized something, and began to shake his right arm feverishly.

"What on—"

Harry finally got his wish. Out of his red sleeve, a small, walnut-sized ball fell into his hand.

"HARRY HAS THE SNITCH! TWO HUNDRED-SIXTY TO A HUNDRED!" howled Lee Jordan, and the crowds exploded. "GRYFFINDORS WIN! EIGHTY-EIGHT POINTS ARE OURS!"

With groans from the Ravenclaws, Harry Potter was buried beneath six scarlet-robed people, and it was in this odd medley of arms and legs that the Gryffindor team descended onto the ground. The red banners in the stands were waving frantically; people were whistling, whooping, and generally making the sort of noise that could shatter glass. Airelle grinned as she, too, floated downwards. This was the first Quidditch game she'd seen in years; had she really forgotten how deafening they were? Or was she just getting old, and found loud sounds intolerable? Nah.

The applause had not died down at all; people were coming onto the field now to congratulate the Gryffindors. The Ravenclaw team was getting handshakes and pats on the back as well; they had been worthy opponents. The Slytherins who had bothered to attend the game, Airelle noticed, just remained in their seats. That, however, did not include Snape; he was also pushing his way past the Gryffindors towards the Ravenclaws. Over the whole scene, Dumbledore's magically magnified voice drowned out the conversations.

"Excellent play," he said, "by both teams… one of the best I've seen in a while. Congratulations to the Gryffindors, who are awarded eighty-eight points… which, if I am not mistaken, puts Gryffindor House in the lead for the House Cup—" (there was more cheering at that) "—but do not forget that Ravenclaw House put up an excellent fight, and deserves ample applause as well. Now… it is getting late, so I urge you all to head back inside for another Christmas Feast… and tomorrow, you may go to the carnival at Hogsmeade, which shall be going on all this week…"

Airelle stopped listening as she was approached by Tracy and Alica, Avalon flying close by.

"Great game," said Tracy, although she did not sound too happy at the loss. "Neville was unbelievable!"

"But you should've awarded Ravenclaw that penalty," added Alica as Avalon perched on Airelle's shoulder. "After all, you did get smacked in the side by a Bludger…"

"I agree," came another voice, and to Airelle's surprise, it was Neville. He was red in the face and grinning. "How are you doing, Professor?"

"It was an accident, Mr. Longbottom," said Airelle, smiling back and shifting around in the thin snow. "And I am quite well… I can also say the same for you. Congratulations, you and Mr. Weasley saved the Gryffindor team."

Neville blushed. "Thank you, Professor. Although Harry got the Snitch…"

"I'm very proud of you," said Airelle. "Even though I should have really been rooting for the Ravenclaws."

"AHH! HYPOCRITE!" yelled Tracy in mock horror, and shrugged as Airelle rounded on her. Alica's grin mirrored Tracy's.

"Oh, come now, Professor, we know you won't favor anybody."

"Yes, indeed," said Tracy proudly. "Unlike—"

"Unlike who, Miss Patts?" asked a cold, dry voice from behind them, and Tracy stopped abruptly. Turning around, she gave Severus Snape her best angelic smile.

"Erm… unlike the bigot in the Muggle movie 'Twelve Angry Men,'" she replied quickly, grabbing Alica's hand. "Oh, dear, we're late for the feast… we should really be going… have to catch up on holiday Potions homework, honestly…" With that, she and her friend took several steps backwards, and walked away at a very decent speed, leaving Snape to stare murderously after them. Neville began to leave as well, but a look from Snape stopped him.

"Mister Longbottom," he said smoothly, while Neville was trying very hard to avoid his black eyes. "I see that Professor Vilka has taught you much about how to fly."

"Y…yes, Professor," he replied.

"It is a pity she cannot teach you about the values of your other classes, such as Potions. Or is it that you're only confident on a broom, and make a mess of everything else?"

Airelle glared at Snape; it was bad enough that he bullied Neville, but he had the nerve to do it in front of her. Avalon, apparently sensing Airelle's mood, burrowed back into the Illusions professor's collar.

"No, sir," replied the Gryffindor, and looked up at Snape. _There you go, _urged Airelle, watching the altercation between her best friend and her student. _Don't shrink, Neville._

"I will strive to do well in all my classes," continued Neville. "Professor Vilka has taught me much, and I… I am grateful to her." He looked at Airelle, asking wordlessly if what he'd said was right. Airelle nodded, and watched Snape's reaction. It was not a pleasant one.

"Is that so?" the Potions Master sneered. "And are you proud of what you have… accomplished?"

Neville was quiet. Then, he said, "Yes, sir." Airelle cheered mentally.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Very well, Mr. Longbottom," he said. "We shall see how you fare… we shall see."

And he swept off towards the castle, leaving Airelle and Neville to look at each other in puzzlement.

"What the heck was that all about?" exclaimed Airelle, pacing around on the thick green carpet that stretched throughout Snape's underground bedroom. Her friend sat in the armchair by the fire silently. Both of them had gone to the feast, but only briefly; Snape had eaten very little, and left early. Airelle, sensing something was on his mind and still angry with him about Neville, sent Avalon off to the Owlery and followed him to the dungeons and through the passageway to his bed-chambers. Now, she was determined to vent her anger.

"What?" he asked, as if he had no clue what Airelle was speaking of.

"You know perfectly well," she snarled. "So what if Longbottom screws up in your classes? He's terrified of you, and the only time he does something right, you have to go and criticize him about it. Some teacher."

"Don't tell me how to teach," he said dangerously, standing up, the fire roaring in the grate. Airelle scowled and crossed her arms.

"I'm not telling you how to teach… I'm telling you it's not good to scare your students to death just because they are Gryffindors."

"You don't understand—" he began. Airelle, of course, interrupted.

"I understand perfectly," she cut in. "It's just like Black's case. You resent him, and Lupin, and the whole of Gryffindor House, just because of Potter. But Neville is not even that great a friend of Potter's…and he's from as pure-blooded a family as you can get."

"Airelle, I know all that."

Airelle was not really listening. "You'll come up with any excuse," she said quietly, looking down. "Do you know what that boy has been through? Never mind the attack on him and Delilah Haze… his parents…" Now, she glared up at him, eyes blazing. "Frank and Alice Longbottom…they were great Aurors… tortured by Voldemort. They do not even recognize him when he goes to visit them in St. Mungo's Hospital. They've been reduced to shells of their former selves, babbling and unable to even live outside a padded room. How _dare_ you put him through any more pain?"

Snape looked down at her, apparently speechless. He was not used to having people talk to him this way. Airelle was one of the few who did it.

"I did not know about the Longbottoms," he finally said, softly. "During my Death Eater days, I had confronted them on several occasions… but…"

"They had the Cruciatus Curse put on them," said Airelle, her anger fading somewhat. "They were very active against Voldemort, and he did not like it."

"I imagine so," Snape replied, striding past her on the marble path towards the exit. "I am sorry for them. The Cruciatus Curse is something that no one should be subjected to." Airelle stared at him; her friend had said the words with the air of one who knew it from firsthand experience.

"It's all right," she said, walking closer to Snape and giving him a small smile he didn't see; his back was turned to her. "I shouldn't have been so rash in my words."

Snape turned around and perused her face. Once again, he looked tired, but it vanished in a second. It seemed as if he had wanted to say something, but then thought against it, and uttered something else.

"Airelle?" he asked. She suddenly realized that no one except Snape had the gift of saying her name so perfectly – "eye-_rell_," the vowels rolling gently on the tongue like waves. He had not lost his vocal talent, ever since she'd seen him in that clearing, behind the Death Eater mask, so long ago.

She shook her head slightly and replied, "What?"

A grim smile stretched his gaunt features. "How would you like to attend a carnival tonight?"

Airelle stared at him. "Carnival? You're joking. You mean the one in Hogsmeade?"

"Aren't you perceptive…"

"Very amusing," she said, turning back towards the fireplace so he wouldn't see her smile. "Right now?"

"It's going to be eleven at night by the time we get there," replied Snape from behind her. "If you want to see something other than the Midnight Fires, then yes, we should leave now."

Airelle looked down at herself. She had given the Quidditch robes to a house-elf and was now in her plain black work robes. She supposed it would do for Hogsmeade… but then again… it was Christmas…

"Very well," she said. "But I'm not dressed for the occasion."

"Give it a rest, Airelle," said Snape irritably. "What is it with females and dress robes?"

Airelle's reply was a snort, and she raised her wand to herself. She owned five pairs of the same sort of robes; changing one would not hurt.

"I'm not a professional at this," she said, "but here goes…Decoratum!"

There were several loud poofs, then something that sounded like nails on a blackboard. When the smoke cleared, Airelle glanced down at herself. She had transfigured her sleeves to become transparent, and they floated like air around her thin arms, reaching down to the middle of her fingers. Jewel-like blue crystals were sprinkled here and there on the translucent material, winking brightly in the firelight. The rest of her robes still looked completely normal, save for one more addition – the front was turned into a V-neck slit, and the same airy fabric as the sleeves stretched over the skin there, the blue crystals shimmering intensely.

"Hmm… not too shabby, if I do say so myself," announced Airelle, pleased with the result. She finally looked up at Snape, who was staring at her with a mixture of horror and admiration on his face.

"You plan to go to Hogsmeade like _that_?" he asked.

"What's wrong with it?" Airelle shrugged. "This is far better than the Muggle dress."

Snape crossed his arms, looking perplexed. Still, he did not take his eyes off her, and for some reason, Airelle found that very unnerving. Finally he said, "I suppose so. It's not exactly what one would call 'dress robes;' it is more like a cross between wizard and Muggle attire."

"And we all know how much you like that sort of cross," laughed Airelle good-naturedly. "In any case, I'll be wearing a winter-wrap over this. So don't worry, even if we go into _The Three Broomsticks_, Madam Rosmerta won't comment on it."

"Somehow I doubt that," muttered Snape, but followed Airelle anyway as the spell lifted them up the dark passageway towards the dungeons.

Airelle pulled her cloak tighter around herself; it was slightly colder in Hogsmeade than at Hogwarts. Neither Snape nor the many people at the carnival seemed to pay much attention to the weather, though. All the houses, shops, and taverns were decorated with multi-coloured fairy lights, which were also strung in garlands across the street from one house to another. A silver moon shone high, hanging like a pendant in the dark firmament. Witches and wizards saluted each other with 'Merry Christmas!' and overflowing jugs of butterbeer. Business was great today at _The Three Broomsticks_, apparently. Light snow fell from the sky and settled in people's hair and robes, and an overall cheerful mood pervaded the atmosphere.

"Snape, look!" Airelle suddenly exclaimed as they walked through the main street. Right below the hill that housed the Shrieking Shack was something that looked like a giant Muggle Ferris wheel, around which was clustered a throng of pointed hats. Most of these were adults, since Hogwarts students were probably still at the feast and would not see the carnival until the next day.

"Ah, so they built it just in time," said Snape, gazing in the same direction as Airelle. "Care to have a closer look?"

"Of course," she replied, and took off, cloak trailing behind her. It billowed out and revealed her transparent and sparkling sleeves. She stopped, face already flushed from the cold, and waved at her friend.

"Well, come, don't sit—I mean, stand there like a bump on a log, let's go!"

Snape shook his head. "There is no way in hell you're getting me on that thing."

"I'm not saying anything," Airelle answered, her expression glowing. "And you were the one who told me to go and take a closer look."

"All right," sighed the professor, and joined her in a fast walk towards the hill.

The Ferris wheel was forty feet high, and absolutely splendid. Airelle arched her neck over the crowd, and saw that in its center, a large Christmas tree decorated with candles was slowly rotating on its axis. The outer rim of the wheel consisted of seats, and each one was different. Airelle recognized some that were shaped like magical creatures – dragons, fairies, even a Golden Snidget – and some that resembled everyday magical objects, such as a wand twisted in coils to make the seat, or a piece of parchment, or a broomstick… But no matter what the shapes, no Muggle could ever mistake this for a non-magical object, because the seats were not attached to the center – or to anything, for that matter. They simply floated slowly in midair, lazily making their giant circle, and occasionally showering the crowds on the ground with red and green snowflakes.

Airelle smiled as she watched a solitary wizard, then a couple, then a family, then some friends all take seats (which could fit up to four) and drift up, up into the sky, making room for new people to board. It was peaceful.

"Lovely, isn't it?" she asked Snape, not taking her eyes off the wheel and the tree in the middle.

Silence. And then—

"To a certain extent," he said. "But that is not what I wanted you to see."

She glanced back at him, smiling and shrugging. "What could possibly be nicer than a carnival with magical attractions? Come on, let's go on it."

Snape's face soured. "I'd rather tap dance."

"Aw, it's not that bad, is it? Have you ever seen this kind of carnival before?"

"Actually, I have not," he replied. "But trust me, there is something else you ought to observe while the both of us are here, on Christmas. We came all this way… I might as well show you."

Airelle looked at him, intrigued. "Is it something you've discovered as a professor here? I know we have been to many places in and near Hogsmeade…"

"I know," said the Potions Master slowly. "We have been there before… although perhaps now it will offer you a new view. A different perspective, so to speak."

"Well, all right," she answered, following him away from the village towards the hills, "but I'll tear you limb from limb if it's not better than this Ferris wheel… I've never seen anything like it…"

"Oh, my word… I've never seen anything like this."

Twenty minutes of climbing later, they were standing at the top of a tall hill that bordered the village on one side. Airelle remembered it well, everything… including the scene behind them. What once were mere saplings had now metamorphosed into tall trees, bordering the mighty fir that had been planted at the spot hundreds of years ago. They used to come to the place as students, and just sat under the never-changing fir and watched the people below. Now, the view was as glorious as it had been two decades in the past…but even better. The entire village was flooded with lights of all colors, as if a rainbow had forgotten its way home and descended on Hogsmeade instead. Thin threads of moonlight wove themselves in people's hair, reflected in their eyes, and were played like strings of a violin in their laughter. Bright stars sparkled in the velvety blackness; they seemed so low now, hanging there like silver berries just waiting to be picked. She had an absurd desire to reach up and touch them, stuff them in her pocket as if this were the last time she'd ever see them…how strange. The crisp winter wind ruffled her hair playfully with its cool fingers, teasing her to trust it, to jump off and float with it. Soft snow landed on her ears and nose, and melted into her hair. Above them, the branches of the fir whispered to unseen forces. Or maybe, they were whispering to the two visitors. The ground was fresh and covered with white. Save for their two pairs of footsteps, it was pure, unblemished. Airelle felt like they were intruding on a panorama meant only for the eyes of Nature herself.

"We have never come here in the winter," came Snape's voice close from behind her. "This is why I wanted you to experience it."

"It's beautiful," she said earnestly, watching gray mist from Hogsmeade's many smokestacks snake upwards into the sky.

"Do you feel different now?" he asked quietly.

"Mm-hmm," she replied. "I feel like I did when young. Free, without worries. I seem to have forgotten them down there, at the bottom."

"I first returned here soon after I left the Death Eaters," he said. "Since then, I have visited it every year. You're the only person who knows."

Airelle turned around and smiled. "And I promise I shall remain the only person who knows." She knew Snape did not want her to bring a tour group up here; this was something more than just a good view. This was a piece of their life; like the dungeon room, it had remained unchanged. They could still be here together without being judged, free to think as they would. Snape did not bring her here to make up for the argument about Neville; she knew her friend too well to think he'd actually apologize directly. There was another reason for this, and a better one.

"Well," she continued awkwardly when her friend did not say anything, "here's hoping we make it here next year."

He nodded, and Airelle turned back to the village. What she had uttered was right; who knew what a year would bring? With Voldemort, every day was an uncertainty, every memory precious. But now was not the time to think of him, in any case.

"Snape?" she asked suddenly.

"Yes?"

"Would you mind if I did something completely childish and silly right now?"

There was a pause. After what seemed like minutes, Snape finally replied dryly, "Go ahead, indulge yourself… but don't kill me in the process."

She turned back around to face him, and a big smile made its way across her face. "All right, then. But I am not held responsible for my temporary bout of insanity."

Snape crossed his arms, looking not the least bit alarmed. "What exactly are you planning?"

"This!" Airelle bounded away from him, onto an edge of the hill jutting out into the atmosphere. Whirling around, she whisked off her cloak and threw it away from her. It landed softly in the snow, as did her stone-topped headband and ponytail strap, leaving her long white hair all out, streaming as she spun around in circles, now only in her robes with the transparent sleeves, the tiny blue gems sparkling in the night like its native stars. For once, Airelle was not afraid of tripping on her own clothing as its folds glided out in her body's wake; her eyes closed, and for a single moment, she felt like she was a part of the air itself, her arms floating like wings, teetering precariously on the precipice – almost beyond infinity…

Her eyes opened again, and her senses returned to earth once more. Dearly grasping onto the feeling, Airelle backed away, laughing silently. If someone saw her (or even the both of them) right now, that someone would think Airelle and Snape had both gone mad. But if this was madness, then it was the most beautiful feeling she had ever experienced. And now, Airelle knew what it was. She had thought of it many times before… the last time being, oddly enough, in Hogsmeade…her first week as a Hogwarts professor, and on the very day she and Snape had stood near the Shrieking Shack…

_The word 'carefree' did not exist for her anymore; it had ceased to occupy a place in her brain on Graduation Night. __But she wished, oh, she only wished there'd be a night when the feeling would come back – a soaring, haunting grace that would lift her sky-high without aid of the fastest broomstick…pure happiness…_

"I remember a poem," she said out of the blue, walking back towards Snape and bypassing her things on the ground. "It is by Emily Dickinson, and it begins… '_Much madness is divinest sense, to the discerning eye_…'"

He did not reply.

"Look," she began, smoothing her hair, which was frizzy and unruly from its game with the wind, "I'm sorry if I'm not… well, I should really be making more sense…" Airelle looked away at that.

For the first time up there, Snape smiled. "I understand," was his response. "Don't you remember how that poem continues-- '_Much sense, the starkest madness, 'tis the majority_…'"

She stared at him, and grinned in order to swallow her amazement. "Once again, Snape, you astonish me. I knew you were proficient in Muggle art, but--"

"Dickinson was half-witch," he said.

"Oh. Oops," Airelle chuckled. "My mistake."

"Thank you for the compliment, however," Snape replied, looking down at her.

She gazed back at him, sincerely. "It was the least I could do," she said. "To repay you."

"For what?"

"Bringing me here. And making me happy for the first time in twenty years."

His smile did not fade. It could be interpreted so many ways – most would see it as a nasty curve of the mouth, but Airelle knew that it was his eyes that showed what the smile meant. This time, it was a mix between amusement and contentment. "Glad I could be of help," he answered.

They stood there for a while, neither one saying anything. The snow kept falling down, softly, on their shoulders, but Airelle did not feel the cold at all. So many things had transpired over time… a little frostiness was the least of her worries. She was not worried now, however; just thinking.

"What's the predominant thing on your mind right now?" Snape asked unexpectedly.

"You're going to laugh," she replied with a grin.

"Try me."

"Grape jelly," said Airelle, shrugging. When he stared at her, she added, "What? I was thinking of the Christmas Feast tonight."

"Do you want to know what I am thinking of?" The question was a potential trap, so Airelle had to structure her answer carefully.

"Romance novels?" she tried with a smile of sorts. "After all, this sounds like a prelude to syrupy sentimentality… 'What are you thinking of, darling?'—'Oh, my dear, my only thoughts are of you.'—'Oh, you make me go all aquiver in my bodice…'—'I was hoping you'd say that, my creamy-skinned flower…'—'Hold me!'" Throughout this dramatization, Airelle was shifting her voice from a squeaky feminine one to a throaty male one, complete with the appropriate hand gestures. Snape looked like he was either going to kill her or kill himself; she couldn't tell which.

"Thank you for that performance of your histrionic abilities," he said slowly, "but I'm afraid it is not the right answer."

"Well, then, what are you thinking of?" she asked, allowing herself to grin slyly. She was one-up on her friend, and that deserved a smug expression on her part.

"I am—" His reply was interrupted. Airelle watched in alarm as Snape suddenly gritted his teeth and grasped the bottom half of his left arm. The teeth did not prevent a small half-moan from escaping into the air, and it seemed to mar the landscape, as if the trees themselves knew what had caused the pain to appear. Snape bent down slightly, but even managed to maintain some of his dignity, and did not make another sound… although Airelle would not have cared if he did.

"Oh, no," she murmured, placing a hand to support him as he lifted up his sleeve slightly. Then, as if suddenly realizing she was watching, he snarled, "Get back!" and turned away. Airelle was undaunted, and pursed her lips.

"I KNOW what that thing is!" she yelled back. "I've seen it with my own eyes more than once. Voldemort is calling you…"

Snape straightened. His sleeve was completely down now, but Airelle knew what lay behind it… the sizzling skull tattoo, with the snake crawling through its eye and mouth. The Dark Mark, Voldemort's brand on all who had ever joined him.

"I must go," he said curtly, but Airelle could not help noticing that he did not look at her when he said it. Suddenly, she remembered her fears… Snape had voiced them aloud that very same day._ "Either he explains to us all what has happened, or he shall accuse me of treason and kill me…. If I die, it shall be for mistakes of the past, not the choices I make now."_

She knew it was useless to argue. Snape had to go, or else. There was no other way, none whatsoever. The Illusions professor had an urge to grip her friend's shoulder, but thought better of it. He needed to concentrate on the task at hand.

Snape finally looked at her, and there was concern in his dark eyes. "Take your wand," he instructed, "and go back to Hogwarts right now. If Voldemort suspects me, he shall be after you as well. Not even Hogsmeade is safe. Now, go, and do not look back. Return to your bedroom and sleep soundly on Christmas night, and worry about me in the morning. Do you understand?"

_You great big idiot, _she thought. _How could I sleep knowing my best—probably my only—friend is out there, facing the Dark Lord?_ But nevertheless, she replied, "Count on it."

He nodded once. For a brief second in time, their eyes locked and perused each other as they did in those stupid, stupid Muggle novellas. Then, Snape Disapparated, leaving Airelle alone on the hill to pick up her strewn things. The snow was still falling, but she had not moved from her spot.

"And by the way," she said quietly, knowing he did not hear her, "come back in one piece."

To Be Continued…

A/N: Did you like my description of the Hogsmeade scene? If you're wondering where all the weird imagery came from… I was listening to my new Enya CD when writing. God, she's cool. :) But then again, I was also listening to Cruella's Favorite Villain Songs (Disney). What a combination… Jafar and meditation music… go figure. Hehehe, either way, I hope you liked the hill. And the Quidditch game… I had an unbelievable amount of fun writing Lee Jordan's commentary…


	18. Silk Sheets and Death Eaters

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 18 Silk Sheets and Death Eaters

The magical clock had struck two in the morning, and Snape had still not returned. Airelle bashed out a few chords on the mini-organ, and resumed her pacing around her friend's bedroom. She had not, of course, gone upstairs to her own bed as he had commanded; Snape was crazy if he thought Airelle would stay in her room while he was being interrogated by Voldemort. No, she would wait. Although now, her patience was slowly thinning. The ex-Auror tried valiantly to push the worst sorts of thoughts out of her mind, and hummed quietly. Stopping in front of the fireplace, she stared up at the tapestry above it – the serpent, and the Latin inscription.

"Knowledge itself is power," she translated for the umpteenth time, and crossed her arms. "That's the truth, indeed. Now I wish I had the knowledge of where Snape is." Airelle took several steps away from the fire, and sighed, rubbing her eyes. She still had not removed her modified robes that she'd worn that night. The crystals were as bright as ever, and looking at them cheered her somewhat. But not enough.

"Where are you?" she whispered to the walls, refusing to lose hope. She had tried everything to take her mind off the ordeal – polishing her wand, thinking of classes and work, singing, playing the organ, talking to Almathea, even drink – but nothing helped, just as she'd expected. There was nothing to do but wait. Wait for either Snape to return, or--

She slumped on the bed, and gathered the green silk sheets to her in crumpled folds. Glancing around the room, she decided that the roaring fire was still not large enough, and pulled her wand from her robes.

"Incendio!" Airelle yelled, and the green-tinged flame sprang up so hard that sparks flew this way and that like tiny firecrackers. The Illusions professor let her wand fall, and drummed her fingers absently on the bedpost, then traced them over the carvings around it. She was not sure how much more of this she could bear…

Suddenly, Airelle heard a noise coming from across the room, inside the entrance tunnel. Somebody was coming.

She jumped up from the bed and ran forward, but then stopped in the middle of the marble path. What if Snape was…gone… what if the person coming was Voldemort? Or one of his cronies? What if Snape revealed the location of his bedroom to the Death Eaters? What if-- Now, she understood why Snape had insisted on her going to her own bedroom. Voldemort could not get into the castle… but maybe if he disguised himself as Snape… no one knew she was here—oh, dear, we had a problem. How could she have been so foolish? Snape knew that if anything happened to him, Voldemort would go after Airelle first, because she doubtlessly knew of his being summoned. That was why he had ordered her to worry about him in the morning. If Voldemort or another Death Eater had disguised himself as Snape, Dumbledore would probably see through it the next morning. Or at least Airelle would…and there, she'd be under Dumbledore's protection. But tonight—Dumbledore did not know. And here she was, the only witness who knew that Snape had been summoned-- _Great, some Auror, _she thought, and prepared to defend herself if necessary.

The noise grew louder, and Airelle looked around for a place to hide. For all its furnishings, the room was surprisingly bare. The only places that could conceal a person were the bed… maybe behind the armchair… the bath (but she did not want to be closed into a tight spot)… and that was it. Since none of these sounded appealing, Airelle decided to stand right next to the entrance of the tunnel. If she was lucky, she might take out the Death Eaters from behind when they entered, and even have a chance to escape via the tunnel herself… if she was _very _lucky, that is.

Closer…closer… there was definitely something sliding down… Airelle drew her wand and took a breath. _Here we go._

The 'something' turned out to be a person, in black robes with a hood up. He—or she—was at the moment kneeling on the floor, breathing raggedly. Airelle wanted to step forward and remove the hood, but stayed put. This could be a trick. Her fingers tightened on her wand.

True to her wish, the figure lowered its hood. Airelle recognized the long black hair immediately. There was no need to even see the profile.

Snape.

It took most of her willpower to stay where she was. This could easily be Voldemort, who had drunk Polyjuice Potion. But how could she know—

A thought hit her. Almathea. She would recognize her true Master. But the problem was—how would she get him into the bathroom?

Meanwhile, Snape staggered towards the bed. Sinking down next to it, he raised his wand and muttered words she could not hear. There was a screeching sound, and the bed slid to the side, revealing a small trapdoor. Airelle watched in amazement as Snape pulled on the handle weakly. Finally, it gave way, and the wood went up. Snape's arm reached inside, and pulled out a tiny bottle. _This must be his private cabinet, where he had gotten my potion the last time as well…_ Closing the door, he crawled back and raised his wand again. The bed went back into its original place. The next thing Snape did almost startled Airelle out of her wits.

"I thought I told you to go to your own bedroom," he said suddenly, and collapsed on the floor, the bottle still un-drunk in his hand. Airelle blinked, and the next thing she knew, she was kneeling next to him, rapidly unscrewing the cap.

"Thank heaven you're alive," she murmured, pulling his head up and tipping the potion into his mouth. "Come on, don't you dare die on me after this one." She shook him, and Snape gulped down. Airelle closed her eyes tightly, and opened them again. She had given him a Restorative Solution, to dull the pain after… after…

She looked him over, and recognized what Voldemort had done— the Cruciatus Curse.

Shuddering, Airelle unclasped her friend's hooded cloak and threw it aside on the carpet. Snape's eyes were closed, and the dark rims around them were even more prominent in the firelight. She touched his forehead— and it was cold as ice.

"I got to get you into bed… you're brave, and stupid, stupid…" She realized she was mumbling nonsense, and worst of all, hugging him tight to herself. Airelle let go for one second and composed herself. Then, she heaved Snape up with great difficulty. He had slipped into unconsciousness, and it was not an easy job hauling a grown man. Airelle noticed that his black robes underneath the cloak were dirty, as if he'd been dragged through mud a great deal. There were also thorns here and there; the meeting had taken place in some forest…

Airelle suddenly thought of something, and would have smacked herself if she were not holding Snape. _You dunderhead—are you a witch or what? _Setting him down, she grabbed her wand off the bed, pointed it at her friend, and shouted, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Snape's limp body immediately floated upwards above the bed, and waited for her next words. Airelle paused, thinking. Should she leave him there and just put him down? Or maybe… since he was probably covered head to toe in dirt and sweat, and grime…

"Hmm…" she said aloud. "Snape will probably kill me when he wakes up, but…"

Grabbing a piece of cloth off the mantelpiece, Airelle tied it around her eyes and took up her wand again. "All right," she uttered shakily, holding onto one of the bedposts for orientation, "let me see… Accio…"

Ten minutes later, the door to the bath opened, and in came floating an immobile body, covered from neck down with a silk green sheet. Airelle, holding her wand and her former blindfold, entered right after it, and stared up at Almathea, who looked absolutely shocked.

"Is this your Master?" asked the professor. The painting nodded numbly as Airelle came down the steps in a very calm manner, the power of the Levitating Spell pushing Snape's body ahead of her.

"Can you take care of this?" she asked, looking up beyond the chandelier. Almathea, who by now had recovered from her shock, glanced at her, then at Snape, and began to snigger uncontrollably.

"What?" asked Airelle.

"Wow… you must have really…tired him out," the Keeper choked between giggles.

"ALMATHEA! That is not funny," glared Airelle, coming to a halt in front of the dark pool. "He had a nasty run-in, and is rather dirty from the fight. Can you fix it?"

"Did you give him a Restorative Solution?" asked the woman, twirling her brown curls and still smiling.

"He took it himself," replied Airelle, "as soon as he came in. I merely helped. But I think he has a fever, and needs help. I'm returning the favour for his taking care of me during the Runespoor incident."

"Uh-huh."

"So," said Airelle, "please hurry. I need to get him into bed as soon as possible."

"Well, I'm sure he'd like that very much," said Almathea, grinning still more.

It took Airelle a while to get the double-entendre, and when she did, she flushed indignantly. "Ha, ha…you and the Weasley twins… or even Alica and Tracy… could be great friends, with your twisted minds and all, honestly…" she growled, putting on her blindfold again as Almathea began to laugh out loud, not able to contain her mirth.

"All right," continued Airelle, reaching out with her arms and placing them on Snape's shoulders, "can you help me?"

""I'm the Keeper, dear," said Almathea from somewhere on the ceiling. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it." And with that, there was a whoosh, and Airelle found herself with a silk sheet on her head. A splash of water, and then, Almathea's voice said, "Remove the blindfold, dearie, you won't need it."

Airelle did as she was told, and found Snape in the bath, large bubbles blossoming and nearly going over the edge. "Are you sure it is safe?" she asked, looking at her friend's still unconscious form with uncertainty.

"Don't fret, I'll fix him up," assured the painting. "I won't kill my own Master… yeesh. Now, go on, and leave the rest to me."

Shrugging, and taking one last look at the Potions Master, Airelle mumbled a thanks and headed out of the room, the silk sheet still on her head.

It took thirty minutes for the splashing of water to stop. All this time, Airelle had been sitting on the rotating chair next to the organ, revolving until she became dizzy. The door flew open, banging off the wall with an almighty crash.

"Sorry!" came Almathea's voice from inside. "I don't usually open doors."

Airelle was going to reply, but she was interrupted by the appearance of a shape in the doorway. It was Snape, and he was apparently awake and dressed, both of which were good things. He came into the light of the room, squinting, as Airelle rose from her chair and the door to the bath was shut by a prompt from its Keeper.

"Yell at me for not listening to you later," she said before he even opened his mouth to speak, and walked closer. "Come on…"

She grabbed him by the elbow as if that would help, and he followed her towards the bed. Wrenching back the covers, Airelle waited for him to assume a half-reclining position, his shoulders supported by a pillow leaning against the headboard. Then, she threw the bunch of silk sheets over her friend (even though he was still wearing his now-clean black robes) and sat down next to him.

"How do you feel?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Like I have been torn to shreds, sewn up, and torn again," he replied, blinking up at her. His long obsidian hair was still damp from the bath, and his eyes looked more alive than last time… less glassy… a good sign.

"Ouch. Did Almathea—"

"Revive me?" Snape smiled darkly. "Yes, the potion and her own brand of magic did well in restoring me to consciousness. The pain has passed now, although I am still sore. And I remember what has happened all too well."

"Then I was right; it was the Cruciatus Curse," she said.

He nodded.

"That bastard…" Airelle clenched her fists so hard that if she'd had long fingernails, she would've certainly drawn blood from her own palms.

"I am glad to see you are so worried about me," he said, looking up at her.

Airelle snorted as if she would not admit it. "Who said anything about you? I wouldn't want anyone to suffer any of the Unforgivables."

"I see," said Snape, although he did not look like he believed her.

"What happened?" she asked, wanting to take her mind off the subject. Snape sat up some more, wincing slightly in the process, and she leaned in to listen.

"We are safe, for now," he said, and Airelle let out a small sigh of relief. "Voldemort informed us all that the Yule Ball's attack was performed by a vigilante, a follower of the Dark Arts, but not a Death Eater. Voldemort said that he appreciated the deed, but that it had set back his personal plans for Hogwarts. He has dispatched a couple of Death Eaters to track this anonymous vigilante and persuade him to come into the Dark Lord's circle. Either that, or they…well…" He paused. "…dispose of him."

"What else?"

"Voldemort," Snape continued, "also said that since his plans were interrupted, he has to change them now… he shall inform us all of what shall happen in the months to come. He won't even confide in his closest Death Eaters concerning the information. Odd, really… it must be something big…"

"And you?"

"He trusts me as his agent at Hogwarts," said the professor. "However… he was angry with me for not contacting him just after the attack occurred. 'You are so far away from me,' he said, 'that perhaps you forget where your true allegiance lies.' Of course, I denied everything, and left myself to his whim."

Airelle winced almost as badly as Snape. She hated the idea of having to be obsequious to a Master, with a capital M. It was not like having a boss to work under… no, with Voldemort, your whole life, your very existence was devoted to him—you gave up your freedom, and could not ever say 'no' to him. It was a horrible notion.

"And it was then that he punished you with the Cruciatus Curse," murmured Airelle, leaning on the headboard as well.

"It was not even a punishment," said Snape. "More like a… reminder. Of what I was. And what I shall always be, until the day of my death. The mark will go with me even to my grave."

"Don't say that," Airelle interrupted gently, even though she knew it was true. The Dark Mark was forever. But then again… "Snape, it does not matter what brand you have… it's what you do with it." She felt as if she were a character out of Nathaniel Hawthorne's _The Scarlet Letter, _confronting a Hester who had the red A on her chest. "Sometimes, it's not the mark on your body that hurts," she said quietly, looking away. "It is the mark inside… and no one can wipe it off except you."

"Now you're sounding philosophical," said Snape bitterly, and neither of them looked at each other.

"But I am right, aren't I?" she asked strongly, staring at the crossed swords and the tapestries on the wall. "No matter how much good you do, Snape, you always feel that nothing is enough to erase what you had become."

He did not reply, and Airelle turned her head towards him. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. She could see his profile, high and angular, with the hooked nose and fathomless black eyes, staring down into oblivion, as if he were not there at all.

"I speak truth," she continued, not giving up. "But no matter how many people judge you, it is nothing compared to what you think of yourself. You have done so much good, and gone through so many dangers, endured pain that I would never have the courage to face… that anyone would forgive you. I know… I know I did."

Snape stirred for the first time, and rotated his head in her direction. To Airelle's surprise, he was smiling.

"What?" she asked, staring at him.

"I have heard that before," he replied, eyes glittering. "You told it to me… once."

"No, I did not," she said incredulously as if her biggest secret had been ruined. "We stood near the Shrieking Shack…and then even before… on my first night as a professor at Hogwarts… but I never said I had forgiven you. In fact, I did not even know it myself until now."

Snape shook his head, and the strange smile was still on his face. "Yes, you did. In fact, you said it to me in this very room… when you were under the influence of the potion."

Airelle blinked. "Was that… did I say that—when I was having my hallucinations?"

Snape nodded silently, and Airelle made a 'hmph' sound. "Well then," she said, "my whole confession's been ruined. You know."

"I knew long before that, Airelle," he said.

"WHAT? Am I _that _obvious?"

"Well," he replied, "I did not know exactly, per se… but I guessed."

"Great, wonderful," she answered blankly. "You knew it before I figured it out myself. Fantastic."

"Do not feel so upset," he said. "At least now you do not have to explain yourself."

Airelle gave Snape a sardonic grin. "Thanks very much."

"You're welcome," he replied in exactly the same tone.

They looked at each other for a while. Then, Airelle said, "So when are you going to tell all of this to Dumbledore?"

"First thing tomorrow morning," he replied, sitting up even a little further next to the headboard.

"Oh, good, then you're feeling better," she chuckled. "A regular survivor, are you? Well, then you won't be needing me any longer, I think I'll go—" She made to get up, but Snape latched onto her transparent sleeve and would not let go.

"Aren't you at least going to tell me what you have been doing since I left?" he asked.

"Worrying," said Airelle without thinking, and immediately wanted to clap a hand over her mouth, because Snape began to smile. "Well, what did you expect me to do, party?" she asked viciously, but the smile still did not disappear from his face.

"I suppose not," he said, releasing her sleeve. "At least someone was worried."

"You think it's fun?" she glared at him. "Try it sometime."

"I have," he replied, and Airelle could not say anything in return. They sat there for a minute or so again, when—

"You're still thinking of the Dark Mark, aren't you?" she asked.

"What makes you say that?"

"Just a feeling, that's all."

"Are you certain you were not meant to study Divination instead?" he asked, and Airelle made a face.

"Very comical… I'm not that bad at things other than Divination… after all, I did fairly well in helping you recover."

At that, Snape looked at her in a deep and perusing way, and Airelle had to scowl. "Oy… don't sweat it, Snape. You helped me once before… you do not owe me anything, if that's what you're worried about."

"Oh, it wasn't that," he said after a while. "It wasn't that at all."

"Then what?" she asked, turning back to him, intrigued.

"Strange how a smart witch like you can be so thick on the most obvious things," he replied, smiling. "No one except Dumbledore has ever done that for me. Helped me when I was down… even after I stabbed them in the back."

"You…" she said quietly, looking down. "I told you… I forgave you, maybe even a very long time ago. We were both young and inexperienced."

"And yet you did not give in to me, or to Voldemort."

"The question is…" she said hotly, looking up into his eyes now, "not what happened in the past, or what my thoughts were. The question is what happens now… and whether you will ever forgive yourself, and stop running away from this." Airelle grabbed his left sleeve and pulled up, revealing the Dark Mark branded black on the pale skin, black, almost unreal as if it had been drawn in ink. Snape pushed her away on instinct.

"No!" she yelled, which was absurd because they were so close together, and there was no need to raise her voice. "I am as old as you are—not some naïve little girl who cannot take it. I have seen it before, don't you remember? I was one of the first to see it… on Graduation Night. Or have you forgotten?"

"No," he replied, just as acidly. "I have not forgotten. But you would have never joined, like I had. You've never been like me."

"Think you're so intelligent, do you?" she replied, lowering her voice to a deadly whisper. "Well, listen to this piece of news: I came _this _close to joining you that day… so I'm no angel. I have woken up at night from my nightmares in cold sweat, thinking about how close I had come… and I regretted not coming with you. I thought I had lost you forever, my best friend – the only true friend I have ever had in my entire life. You were gone, and I was convinced there was no way to bring you back. So I resigned myself to being an Auror, to stop others from becoming like you, to save their own friends from confronting the same thing I did on Graduation. And have you ANY IDEA that I worked so hard at my job so every day I could face something worse than what I had seen that night? So I could forget what happened. But I did NOT forget… I could not. There was not a day when I didn't think about what could have occurred if I joined you… where you were now… if you were dead… or worse… MY life has not been peaches and cream, Snape, any more than yours has. And then, when I finally saw you again, here at Hogwarts, I thought you had really changed… that maybe I had, by some miracle, gotten my friend back. But I was wrong. It does not matter if Voldemort perishes or not, or whether you're a Death Eater or not. The Dark Mark has eaten its way into your blood. It is part of you, and you allow it to dissolve you, to consume you. You've stopped fighting it."

At that, Airelle stopped speaking. Snape was staring at her as if she'd just slapped him in the face. It was absolute shock; she had never seen him look like that before. It was more than shock… it was downright horror.

"What?" she asked. "Did you think I wasn't human, that I could just take anything Voldemort or you could dish out? I nearly cracked back then."

He just kept looking at her. Airelle leaned closer.

"Let me see it," she said firmly.

Snape's black eyes narrowed, and took on that unexplainable look that they'd adopted the very day they met for the second time. He slowly moved his left arm forward, not taking his gaze off her. Airelle smiled.

"I want to see you do it," she said softly. "It's not going to be some psychological breakthrough," she added quickly when Snape smirked. "Just humor me. Please?"

"Very well, if you insist," he replied, and reached towards the sleeve. Airelle watched, and it was as if the whole scene was occurring in slow motion. Snape suddenly looked twenty years younger… his face already scarred by knowledge no seventeen-year-old should have held… but his eyes were brighter, full of hope… hope that he had found his true calling in the fold of Voldemort…

_"No longer am I Severus Snape, the greasy-haired kid with friends the number of which he could count on one hand! No… with this mark, a new Snape has been born, a Severus Snape with the strength of hundreds to support him, and the backing of the most powerful wizard in the world…"_

_ "Lucius did not want me to tell you, because you were Muggle-born…"_

_ "You stuck by me, every single time. You have never betrayed me…"_

_ "Airelle…stand by me now, in my hardest hour…"_

_ "Are you afraid to look at me?…"_

"No. Not anymore."

"What?" asked Snape, lifting up his sleeve. Airelle realized she had spoken the last part aloud.

"Nothing," she replied hastily, lowering her eyes to the Dark Mark. She stared at it defiantly, as if they were in a battle. The serpent seemed alive in the firelight, but it did not frighten her. After all, fear was what you made of it. And Airelle firmly told herself it was just a tattoo. Just a tattoo.

"It's not scary at all," she said, smiling up at him. "Honestly, I don't know how you let such a trifle bother you."

Snape smiled back. "I do not think it's a trifle."

"Well, maybe not a trifle, but…well, perhaps you can count it as something more than a trifle, but less than a—"

"Airelle."

"Yes?"

"You're not making any sense."

"Oh."

Silence ensued. And then, Airelle said something very peculiar.

"Snape, I don't know how to tell you this, but… well… I'm very glad you're alive."

"So am I," he replied, and she began to laugh.

"No, I mean… when I saw you tonight, unconscious… I thought about some things, like…oh… that if something happened to you, I'd positively go ballistic and kill everything in sight."

"Please, don't do that," he said. "I do not want to be the cause of you ending up in St. Mungo's or Azkaban."

Airelle smiled. "Care that much?"

"Drop it, Vilka," he smirked, and reached up to push a loose strand of hair away from her face.

"All right, I think you're the one who needs mental help now," she laughed. "What are you doing suddenly grooming me?"

"No particular reason. Just that you're a mess."

"Thanks for the compliment," she answered, looking down at herself. She was still wearing her customized robes, of course, which were now wrinkled and in need of a good cleaning. Airelle also had not pulled her hair into its original ponytail; the result was a semi-tangled, frizzy white mass that reached down to her waist and gone all over the place. She blew up on another wisp that had fallen onto her eyebrow, and grinned.

"I suppose I should really go now… after all, it is close to three in the morning, and I need some sleep. Even if we do not have classes until the first of January, I still have to go down for breakfast, and so do you. So… 'night…"

She grabbed onto the bedpost to help her get up, but was stopped yet again. Looking back, Airelle saw that Snape had sat up completely and leaned forward to face her. She turned around, kneeling on the bed covers, and asked, "What now?"

"Airelle," said Snape carefully, "do you mind if I did something completely childish and silly right now?"

She stared at him. He was echoing her own words from just a few hours ago. This had indeed been a long day. "All right," she replied, mirroring his gaze, "but don't kill me in the process."

He did not smile. Instead, he said one word.

"Stay."

Airelle blinked three times to make sure she was actually looking at Severus Snape. "What?" she asked. "Did you just say…"

"I asked you something very odd and foolish," he replied, not taking his eyes off her. "I asked you to stay."

"But…" she stammered, "but… what do you mean… exactly…"

"Forgive me," he said. "I am probably frightening you. But don't leave… I promise I will not bring you harm. Just listen to me, for once. You at least owe me that much. After that, you may go."

Airelle swallowed. Something was about to change… she had a hunch she'd never be the same again after this conversation… if Snape was acting this bizarre, then it would be really important.

"All right," she said after a while. "Talk."

"But swear to me, by all you hold dear, that you shall not utter a word of this to anyone," he urged.

"If the information does not hurt anybody… then, I give you my oath as an Auror," she replied. Trust… trust… what a bitter word.

"Very well, then," said Snape. "Perhaps this conversation is all a result of some hallucination of mine, and I shall regret it later… but I must tell you now. Although…you may not like what you hear."

"Try me."

"When I was a Death Eater," he began, looking away, his voice clear, "Voldemort's followers killed many people, as you know. And they would bring the slain ones' survivors—usually wives and daughters—to him. Voldemort would then give them to us… as rewards for good behaviour. Some of my companions treated them horribly… after all, they were only meat. Some were gentle. I thought the practice in itself was fiendish… but I did it as well. At that time, I had learned to block out the screams. You had to learn, or you'd go crazy. In any case… I lost my chastity early… and I always took the women and girls Voldemort gave me. After all, if I had chosen to remain a bachelor, and refused the offer, Voldemort would probably kill the girl and punish me for being ungrateful. I tried to be as temperate to them as I could… the very young girls I often left alone for the night. Unlike some of my colleagues, I never promised them freedom, because I knew that it would be even worse a torment to promise something I could not give. They were somewhat tolerant of me for that reason. I quickly became proficient in the bedroom arts (so to speak), because I readily accepted more and more girls and women, to at least spare them from the embraces of someone like Macnair…" He paused, seeing Airelle wince. Then, he continued again. "During that time, I went through many of them… but I had never bedded a girl who wanted me. I could not blame them… their loved ones had been murdered, what could I expect? —and they were forced into it. However well I treated them… well, you, Airelle, do not know how it feels—how it feels… to see fear in your partner's eyes. Or something even worse—indifference. Many of them had endured torture, physical and mental, and just did not care what happened to them anymore. That has to be the worst kind of victimization I have ever seen."

"So why tell me this?" asked Airelle, knowing Snape was not asking for her sympathy. It was something else.

"In your eyes," he replied, "I see none of that. You are one of the few people who do not squirm even under my harshest stare. You respect me, but do not fear me. In your eyes, I see the passion of something new. You act as if you can go and take on the world, even after all your bad experiences. I want to learn that from you. There is no apathy in your eyes. This is why I asked you to stay… you know me better than anyone. You care about what I think…no one save Dumbledore has ever done that. You are my only chance."

"Is that all it is?" she whispered, nearly choking the words out because even to her, they sounded so unexpected. "Snape… if you want me to share that power with you… all you have to do is talk to me. I cannot give you anything that you don't already have."

"You don't understand," he said calmly. "It is not just that. I have rarely asked for help—but this time, yes…" When Airelle did not reply, he said, "Forgive me yet again. You may leave now, and forget I said anything… I should not have asked this of you, a friend… it was wrong."

Airelle stared at the bedpost for a moment, then turned back towards him. "No," she said smoothly. "Not wrong. Snape, if you can understand this… well, you have the right idea… but you're going about it the wrong way. We both are."

"Don't tell me you've thought about this, too," he replied, looking at her sideways as if she were crazy of even thinking that.

"Actually… in my dreams… nightmares, really… I have had some experiences, even though they always turned out with you being Voldemort… but hey, it's the thought that counts."

Snape began to laugh. "How interesting. So you're afraid of me, are you?"

"Afraid?" she said indignantly. "Never. Not you. It is what happens afterwards. God, why am I even telling you this? It's as if I drank Veritaserum and am spilling out my guts to you. I hope you don't mind," she added brightly.

"Not at all," he answered. "At least we are discussing this like rational adults."

"Somehow I doubt this is anything similar to rationality."

"Don't change the subject, Airelle," he warned dangerously. "Answer me. Now that you're here, I plan to get it out of you."

"What was the question?"

"What are you afraid of?"

"Me? Hah…" She paused, looking away. "How silly…laughable, really… All right," she said monotonously, "you want to know? The truth is that I trust you, and oftentimes I'm scared of it. Scared of what that trust can lead to… especially since you were a Death Eater, and I'm an ex-Auror… it is absurd…the thing I'm most afraid of right now, is that I'm going to kiss you, like I almost did on the night of the Yule Ball, after your conversation with Lupin. In fact, I'm terrified. You're my best friend—this could absolutely explode in my face later. The whole idea alone deserves a stay in an asylum, and yet I cannot get it out of my head at the oddest moments. I'm afraid you may use me for your own purposes, or whatever you need—or even if not, that I will still regret… if anything happens… I know I will feel horrible, but it will be too late… and I will be a liability for you. It is stupid… if Voldemort finds out, then he could easily capture me and make you do whatever he wants… or even vice versa. Ahem, I think that's it. You may feel free to run out of the room screaming at the top of your lungs now."

But to Airelle's surprise, Snape did not scream or run. In fact, he blinked at her several times before falling back against the headboard, laughing so hard he had to hold his sides.

_Well, that's it. I've made him insane, _thought Airelle, and, crossing her arms, stared down at her friend. It was a full minute before he composed himself and looked at her seriously.

"Airelle," he said, "you may be my age, but you are still so young and foolish. If you can take care of yourself, what makes you think I cannot? First, you will never be a liability for me, and neither will I for you. Both of us have been through too much to play heroes. We win with cunning, not with barging into the villain's lair waving a wand. Besides… Voldemort could easily capture you even now, and it would not make any difference. It doesn't matter if you are anything more than my friend. You will always remain my friend, and I will always see you in that way first. If it is something more plays no role in the issue. Second, the nightmares you've had are justified. But you are afraid of Voldemort, not of me. You're afraid of what he may have done to me. But if you still have some faith, then mark my words: I will be triple damned in Tartarus before I betray you a second time. You do not deserve that, not after what you did… you were the only one who still remembered, who held hope that I'd come back. You were the last straw… your presence gave me the power to escape Voldemort's clutches… to return to Dumbledore in shame, but still _return._"

Airelle was silent and apparently very fascinated with wringing her fingers in her lap. If Snape had tried to seduce her, this would be much too simple. But he had told the truth, and it was now up to her. Why couldn't this be easier?

"Vilka… look at me," said Snape from somewhere in front of her. She could only see his black robes, and the folds and folds of silk green sheets. "Look me in the eye," he repeated, "and tell me you don't believe me. If you do, then we shall never speak of this matter again."

She glanced up. Snape's eyes were glittering, eager. Waiting…

She sighed. "What can I tell you? Nothing less than the truth, is that it? Well, the truth is…"

_Go on, Airelle. Say it. Say the truth, and it will not be your burden anymore. You've carried it for twenty years; SAY IT. What was that you told yourself? That you'd never let anything harm you? Well, the truth itself is harming you. So let it go. Everyone's always called you strong… well, now prove it._

"Yes," she said plainly, looking her friend straight in the eyes. "I'm sorry it took me so long to admit it… but I do believe you."

"About time," Snape laughed. "Was that so hard?"

"Actually, no. I feel much better. And you know what I just realized?"

"What?"

"You have laughed more times today than I've seen you do in a month."

His mouth lifted in a smirk. "I am not usually this pleased with the circumstances."

"Oh, really?" she grinned back, feeling a teenage-type altercation of wits coming on. "And what pleases you most about the circumstances?"

Snape's black eyes narrowed very slowly. "That now that we understand each other, I can probably kiss you with impunity."

Airelle looked at him for a second. Normally, she'd have balked and bombarded him with nasty rhetoric concerning his family tree, but now… now, had things changed that much?

"Maybe," she replied, "but I'm afraid I cannot kiss you."

"Why is that?"

"Well," she answered, leaning with one elbow onto his shoulder, "because that would be taking advantage of you in your… ah, _vulnerable_ state."

He smirked. "Vulnerable? How so?"

"I just think the pain, not to mention the ensuing bath, has had an impact on your head. You're actually being nice…thus, you're probably not thinking straight right now."

"You know," Snape muttered calmly, "you're probably right in more ways than one. Maybe I am not thinking straight. Or, perhaps that bath finally cleared my brain of cobwebs, and now I see the most lucid course of action to take."

Airelle, while thinking, _What would that be?_, suddenly had another recollection of syrupy romance novels seconds before the Potions Master pulled her into a kiss that was twenty years overdue.

The oddest thing about this whole scenario was that there were no voices in Airelle's head, none at all. They did not appear even when Snape reached out with one hand and drew the left side of the bed-curtains around them shut, blocking out the door to the bath, the mini-organ, and the tapestries with the crisscrossing swords on the walls. It was only when he grasped the right side of the thick dark green material and pulled out the silver ropes that Airelle pulled backwards, breathing heavily. _Oh, dear. What am I doing??_ Even she did not know what to say. All sorts of choices popped into her head, such as, 'We really should not do this,' or 'This is going too fast.'

But instead, what came out of her mouth was, "Wow. You're good."

Snape looked taken aback for a second, and leaned against the headboard again. "You broke the kiss just to tell me _that?_"

"Well," she said shakily (for she still had not regained her breath properly), "I thought it was worthwhile to say something…I mean, this is…"

"Airelle," replied Snape dryly, "I was joking."

"Oh."

"Relax," he continued in a softer tone. "Thank you for the compliment… and you're doing quite well yourself, for a first-timer."

"How did you—" Snape just stared at her, and Airelle decided not to ask any more questions. It was true; she had never been in contact of that nature with anyone. In her mid-thirties, not religiously committed, and chaste. That had to be a record somewhere. Oh, certainly, Airelle had had opportunities, during her Auror days… but refused the advances. Perhaps she had never believed she could trust any of them; maybe it was just shyness. But in any case, she'd seen and read quite a bit on the subject… but never experienced it. Not anything like this. She licked her lips, which were still crimson and swollen from the kiss. If every man could perform what Snape had just done, then she had definitely missed out on a lot in her twenties. Blast it.

"Never mind," she said. "So… what do we do now?"

He smiled, and she could not help noticing the undisguised wickedness in it. "I think you should leave that to me."

"Rule number one," replied Airelle, crossing her arms and looking away because she had turned beet red, "never make me blush."

Snape took out his wand from under the pillow and uttered a few well-chosen words. The torches went out with gray poofs, leaving the fireplace as the only source of light.

"Rule number two," he murmured back, drawing the right side of the curtains shut so they were both enveloped in semi-darkness, "never make rules for me to follow in my own bed-chambers. And besides," he added silkily, "there really won't be any room for blushing after I'm through with you."

"If you think that scares me," she answered haughtily, "you're losing your touch."

"I'm not losing anything… especially my--"

"Rule number three: quit with those double-entendres! You and some of the students could join Almathea in a club."

"I own the club, Airelle," he replied, drawing her down to him again and closing his mouth over hers. Snape had not been joking; he was dexterous in all respects. She laughed mentally at herself as he pulled her lower lip out, gently, and suckled on it with an almost chilling skill. _Heh…honestly, you'd never guess he was talented in this, of all things…shows you never truly know what your regular neighborhood Potions Master is really like…_

To Be Continued…

A/N: Well, kiddies, there's your kiss and more. :) I know that was PG-13, not R. But be aware, I deleted the rest of this scene and decided not to continue it, due to my sudden desire for a cold bath. :) And speaking of bath… next chapter, we'll pay another visit to Almathea. So if you thought Chapter 18 was by far not enough… just wait. ;)


	19. Decisions, Decisions

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 19 Decisions, Decisions

BANG. The clock struck a sixth time, and fell silent. The flames in the fireplace were still crackling merrily as a thin figure made its way across to the marble walkway and pulled on the round wooden handle to the bath.

Inside, Almathea stopped snoozing just in time to see Airelle Vilka enter the room. Her white hair, frizzy as previously, cascaded down over the dark green sheet that was loosely wrapped around her entire body. Her feet were uncovered, and tiptoed this way and that on the cold stone floor.

"Morning, Mistress," yawned the painting, staring down at the professor with smiling eyes. Airelle blinked, registering the odd greeting, and squinted upwards toward the candelabrum and the ceiling beyond.

"What did you call me?"

"Well," Almathea shrugged, tossing her curly locks over her shoulder, "you did share my Master's bed, didn't you?"

Airelle stared.

"What, are you surprised I know? Dearie," winked the painting, "the bedroom may have many innovations, but it is far from soundproof."

Airelle did not even turn pink at the comment. _Well, what do you know? _she thought. _Snape was right about the blushing bit._ "Just please, for my sake and sanity, call me Airelle, not Mistress."

"Will do," said the Keeper, and the black water below her began to simmer slowly. Airelle slipped out of the sheet and jumped in, dunking her head under.

"Ahh," she murmured, coming up and smoothing her wet hair over her back and shoulders, "that hits the spot. Thanks, Almathea."

"You're welcome, Mistr—heh, I mean Airelle," answered the other's voice from above. Airelle stretched and began making little circles in the water with her index finger to pass the time as thick, gelatinous bubbles of soap began to rise to the surface and envelop her. She watched the ripples dance across the surface, then dove down once more. The water seemed endless; Almathea could apparently make it as deep as the bather desired. Airelle could not see an inch in front of her, the bath was so dark. But she did feel her hair trailing around her head like seaweed. It was a sensation she had enjoyed ever since she'd been young and swimming on Muggle beaches. It made her imagine herself as a mermaid, that she knew the ocean's endless depths, every nook and cranny. Here, the feeling was similar, except there were no waves and magic was involved.

She touched the wall and pushed off it with her feet, coming out of the water nearly up to her waist and then splashing back into it like a little girl. Although, as of the previous night, she was no longer considered a girl by any means.

Airelle settled herself next to the edge of the bath and looked up at the candelabrum. The light hurt her eyes, but she was determined to pick out the Keeper's face from among the prickling yellow points of the myriad candles hanging above. "Almathea?" she called.

"Yes?" came the voice, but Airelle could not see her anyway. Finally resigning herself to leaving Almathea disembodied for a while, Airelle twirled around in the water some more.

"Say, how are you this fine morning?" the Illusions professor asked, rubbing her eyes with aid of some water to help them focus faster.

"I hardly count six o'clock as morning," laughed the painting. "To me, ten is about the right time to awaken. However, my Master has brought me away from that, for he is an early riser… That was NOT meant to be a double-entendre," she added quickly when Airelle looked about ready to explode into hysterics.

"No," Airelle choked out, "I hope not. In any case, you're right about him. I remember, when we were young—"

"Mid-thirties is not that old, dear."

"All right… when we were _students_," Airelle corrected herself, "Snape – yes, I am still not calling him by first name – used to drag me out of bed at around this time to go and buy potion ingredients. During vacation days, too. Which makes me wonder why he's always the last one to show up for breakfast, if he still wakes up this early…"

"Oyy, you two must have had quite a history," muttered Almathea, changing the subject completely. "Much more than what he's told me. Because from what I know of his character… I'd never thought of him as the type to bed anyone. Not that he's _that_ horrible or anything, mind you… if you'll forgive me, I just cannot see any girl jumping at the opportunity…"

"I know what you mean," said Airelle. "Severus Snape, the most despised professor in school… the person others would go out of their way to avoid… the former Death Eater. Strangely enough, I, his friend, was the one to do it willingly. And you know… I thought I would regret it. Turns out I don't. In fact, far from it."

"Well, that's good then," replied Almathea, chuckling as Airelle began scrubbing herself with a washcloth. "At least you went through the process rationally, thought it out, etcetera. And you are willing to take responsibility, for your part. Just as long as you two do not play kissy-face in public, I'll be fine with it."

Airelle began to laugh so hard that she started hiccupping, and consequently produced a few soap bubbles that she'd accidentally swallowed. "That'll be the day," she said after calming down. "I have a feeling Snape has not transformed his behaviour a single bit because of last night. I'm his best friend, not a miracle worker."

"Would you find the lack of change upsetting?"

"Are you joking?" chortled Airelle, letting her washcloth land with a wet splat on the stones. "Of course not; Snape was never that kind of person. He will not alter his personality…and I think I like him just the way he is… nasty, prejudiced against Gryffindor, sweeping around and leaving people shuddering in his wake… there's Snape for you, and no other."

"You wouldn't want him any other way? Say… nice?"

"He can be 'nice' if he wants to," she replied. "But actually… I'd prefer him to be someone recognizable to me. As for a change… maybe if he thought of the Dark Mark differently, like I told him last night… perhaps that shall come with time. But right now… I think he shall remain exactly the way he was. We'll see."

"Yes, of course," said Almathea, and Airelle could just imagine her grinning. "I have no doubt of it whatsoever—"

"Ahem."

Airelle spun around. Both she and Almathea had been so absorbed in their tête-à-tête that neither of them had noticed the subject of their conversation standing right at the top of the small staircase, leaning on the door. He was wearing a gray, immaculately fastened nightshirt that reached to his shins. Like Airelle, he was barefoot, and the look on his face was not a pleasant one. _Looks like I was correct in my assumptions, _said Airelle to herself with a smile.

Meanwhile--

"Master!" exclaimed Almathea, with an over-enthusiastic tone of voice. "I'm delighted to see you!"

"When you've finished discussing my personality modifications," he replied wryly, "out, if you please."

"Well, I understand," came the painting's hollow voice from above the chandelier, "you two want to be alone… of course, you'll do fine without me, I am just the Keeper of the room, after all… no, I won't be upset at all…"

"_Out,_ Almathea," Snape growled, and Airelle peered out of the bath to look up at the ceiling from another angle.

"Certainly, Master; why didn't you say so in the first place?" beamed the painting. Just when Airelle was wondering how Almathea could 'leave' (technically, Keepers were not allowed to depart from the room), a thick dark mist erupted from the ends of her picture frame and enveloped the painting whole within seconds. Airelle caught sight of Almathea's winking countenance a moment before it was overshadowed by the cloud. Then, she was gone, and the picture now looked like a storm had gathered there.

"It is a Blocking Spell Keepers use to obstruct their getting involved in Masters' and Mistresses' private affairs," Snape explained, closing the door and walking down the marble steps. "It stops any visual and audio contact with the Keeper's room."

"What do they do in the meantime?" asked Airelle, propping herself on the stones with both elbows.

"I do not know; ask her when she returns," he replied, and motioned towards the water. "May I join you?"

"Aw, I'm already clean, and now--" she protested, but laughed when she saw the look on his face. "Yes, you may, I was being facetious."

Without a word, Snape proceeded to unfasten his nightshirt. Airelle forced herself not to look away; after all, this was nothing she had not seen before. But the whole idea was still new to her… However, in the meantime, she coerced her own eyes not to waver from the picture. After all, how would it look if she shied away from her—what exactly was Snape to her at this point in time? Oh, he'd been right; friends first, always. But now, things would change forever. If they shared a bed…—and also, how long would it be until someone discovered the affair?

Her thoughts must have reflected on her face, because Snape cocked his head sideways, looking at her questioningly as he put the clothes on the bottom of the staircase.

"So what optimistic possibilities are running through your mind now?" he asked, half-sarcastically. "It's not about Voldemort again, is it?"

"No," Airelle sighed as Snape slid, much more gracefully than she had, into the black water beside her. "Something worse."

"Worse than Voldemort?" he chuckled. "I must hear this one."

"It's not a laughing matter, I think. What if somebody finds out about us?"

"Oh, that," Snape said as if he'd thought of it a million times already. "As long as we do not give them any reason to suspect anything, they won't."

"I don't know if—"

"Airelle," he interrupted in a more soothing manner than his usual, "they will not." One well-maneuvered swimming stroke, and he had her trapped between himself and a side of the bath. Snape lifted a finger and directed her chin up so she could look at him. "Don't believe me?" he murmured, leaning close to her face. "Nearly all of the people in this school do not know about my past as a Death Eater. And I've been here for years and years."

"But that's different," she said, shivering. "Not many people can just approach you and lift up your sleeve to see the Dark Mark."

"And you think it's that easy to lift a person's defenses and see through to the mind?" Snape retorted, laughing. "You're being absurd. Why, with your paranoia, they'll be lucky if they figure out we are friends at all."

By this time, Airelle felt somewhat more hopeful. Perhaps Snape was right; as long as they were careful, no one would know. After all, not even that many people were aware of their friendship, much less… something like this.

"Better now?" he asked, taking her right hand in his own under the water and bringing it out and up to his lips. "You do not have to think for the both of us, you know. You are responsible only for yourself."

"Mm-hmm," she nodded, grinning. "What a great thing to say the morning after… err… the night."

"Unless I'm mistaken, morning usually comes after night," he smirked back, gliding Airelle's index finger into his mouth and sucking it clean of water. Her stomach twisted and she could only meet his eyes with the accompaniment of a smile and a shake of the head.

"What?" he asked, kissing the tip of her finger and looking up. "Do you find me amusing?"

"No," she replied. "It's just that if I weren't here to see it, I wouldn't believe it—you, being sarcastic as usual, but also quite nice… even sensual."

Snape laughed. "You're acting as if I'd suddenly turned into the Eighth Wonder of the World. And besides… sensual? Me? That was nothing compared to what I've seen in my time. I remember, during my youth, soon after I joined the Death Eaters… I traveled around the world in search of expensive ingredients for potions to concoct for Voldemort. In some countries," –(at this he spoke softly into Airelle's ear, as if the words should not have even been uttered aloud)— "I have witnessed women be reduced to quivering lumps with one adept brush…"

"Lumps? I'm more than you can handle, you manipulative—" began Airelle with a grin, but Snape interrupted her tirade with a kiss so deep she had to tilt her head sixty degrees to encompass all of it. It lasted for a good minute, and when they broke, Airelle felt like resetting her jaw manually in its rightful place before continuing. Snape, however, did not seem to be noticing any of this, and pressed her harder against the bath, as if he could push her either into himself or out of existence. His slender fingers moved expertly under the water to the small of her back and up again in long, skillful strokes. Airelle had figured out the previous night that Snape took great pleasure in giving the lady groundbreaking satisfaction, but keeping himself in control. She guessed it had come from always having to be in check when working for Voldemort. He was hesitant to let it all go ballistic for even a second, and Airelle didn't blame him for that. After all, she had done it herself… that is, up until Christmas night. But now, she felt like returning the favour.

"I've never made love in a bath before," she laughed out loud, running her hand through his black hair, which was wet at this point as well. "It'll be, ah, awfully lonely taking a bath by myself from now on, I fathom…"

"Oh, we aren't making love," he murmured in her ear. "I'm just helping you relax."

"My usual method of relaxation is reading a book," Airelle smirked. Both she and Snape had fallen asleep over such books during their student years quite frequently.

"Then let me introduce you to mine." His tongue drew a thin, wet line from her ear, down, and culminated at the base of her neck. It was a mere fraction, a simple reminder of what he'd done to her just a few hours previously, but it still made Airelle gasp. Snape looked up at her, black eyes shining.

"Any more triumphant looks, and you're getting a sock in the face," she sneered, but could not stop her gaze from revealing her own contentment.

Snape merely shrugged. "Very well, even though you don't frighten me one bit."

"And why not?"

"Nobody's that scary after you've seen them with no clothes on."

Airelle suddenly imagined Voldemort's pants (not that he wore any, but it was fun to speculate) dropping in front of his throng of Death Eaters, and it took all she had not to burst out laughing. For all her maturity, she was still a child at heart. Odd.

"Can't you ever be serious?" asked Snape, and Airelle grinned down at him.

"You try being serious if you're in a bath with a man your students consider to be worse than Voldemort."

"Do they really?" he replied, moving up again. "Foolish children; they know nothing of the Dark Lord."

"'Course not," Airelle said reassuringly, trying very hard to keep from giggling once more. Snape really thought his demeanor towards the students was normal. But then again, Airelle was quite used to it.

"But you do," he muttered, "so you know I'm not truly repulsive, hmm? If I were, you would never allow me to do this…" Airelle could not reply because he put a finger to her lips and gently tilted her head sideways. She had only a vague idea of what he was going to do, and her notions proved correct when Snape traced the outline of her jawbone with a finger. Shifting away a wet strand of her long white hair, he gave Airelle a small kiss on the cheek. He then moved his hands away from her face, and made them resume their position around her waist. She shuddered a little when he kissed directly below the jawbone and the ear. The next kiss was longer. So was the next one. Airelle's grip on Snape's shoulder tightened as his mouth traveled down over her jugular. Each subsequent kiss was deliciously warm, and agonizingly slow; not harsh enough to leave a mark, but, like Snape himself, very thorough. She barely stifled a moan as his tongue caressed the skin over her now hammering pulse.

"When we get out of the bath and back into bed," he said softly, releasing her, "I will show you what it feels like to have every last centimeter of your body tremble with pleasure until you're almost… at the brink of madness…"

"Bring it on," Airelle replied with a grin. "Just as long as we get to the Great Hall on time. Breakfast _is_ the most important meal of the day, you know."

"You're impossible."

"Thank you, Professor."

To Be Continued…

A/N: This was short. I know. I meant for it to be. Didn't want to go too much into detail for fear that Lockhart or somebody innocent like my guidance counselor may be reading… :)

A/N #2: WHOO! Must take cold shower, right now. :) Hey, I'm the one who'll be proofreading this the next morning. TA-DA… I'm just not amusing at 3:30 A.M.…yeesh.


	20. The Fourteenth of February

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 20 The Fourteenth of February

The next month and a half passed by without any special occurrence, save, of course, for the fact that Airelle and Snape were now clandestinely sharing a bed. The problem lay in the fact that Airelle had to sleep in her bedroom most of the time so as not to arouse unnecessary suspicion; thus, she could only visit the underground chambers on the weekends (Snape coming upstairs would be too risky). Not that it bothered her; as the weeks passed, she found that a full night's sleep was well worth it. Her nightmares had disappeared completely as they entered February. Most of the students, especially Neville, were doing superbly in her class; and Airelle could not have been more delighted. The morning after Christmas, Snape had informed Dumbledore of Voldemort's summons, and was told by the elder wizard to keep his ears open for anything unusual. But there seemed to be no word from the still nameless vigilante or the Death Eaters. Albus Dumbledore was looking happier and happier every day, and twinkled his blue eyes at Airelle every chance he got. A few times, the Illusions professor even had the impression the Headmaster knew of her liaison with Snape, but the feeling quickly faded. The Potions Master was still the same, and no one had guessed anything. Which was all very good, to be sure.

It was thus with a light heart that Airelle entered the Great Hall for breakfast on February fourteenth, her black teacher's robes flawlessly clean and wrinkle-free (amazing as it was, even to her) and her hair pulled into its usual high ponytail. This was another set of robes she owned; the transparent-sleeved Christmas ones hung in her closet. Even though Airelle had, as always, not worn any make-up, today she had a sentiment to decorate again, and had swapped her stone-topped headband for three shimmering blue crystals that she'd picked off her transfigured robes. They were magically pinned to her hair in a diagonal row on the side of her head, right at the base of the ponytail. Their color matched the shining hems of her robes, which radiated very thin swirls of blue that could be seen only in bright light.

"Airelle--mornin'!" Hagrid saluted her from the end of the table, and gave her a huge smile from underneath his bushy beard.

"Don't ask what's with my get-up," she replied, grinning back. "It's a Friday, so I'm feeling happy today." Also, to her, Friday meant a weekend of spending her days with Snape in their secret room next to the Potions classroom, making new concoctions from ingredients Snape had procured from heaven knew where. Not to mention that she'd spend some commendable nights downstairs as well. But Hagrid did not need to know all that, of course. No one did.

"Ah," he said knowingly, drinking pumpkin juice out of a jug the circumference of which was approximately the same as that of a wine barrel. "Good, good. I'm glad to see you're keeping yer mind off 'at Delilah Haze business."

"There's nothing for me to do…Madame Pomfrey will take care of her, not I," said Airelle. "So why must I worry?"

"That's the spirit, I say," replied Hagrid. "Oh! Almos' forgot…" He reached into one of his enormous pockets as Airelle leaned on the table opposite him, curious. Knowing Hagrid, if this was some sort of gift, it was best to be careful -- lest the present should bite.

"'ere you go." He spilled several long, cherry-red objects into Airelle's cupped hands – crackers. She pulled one, and it exploded with a small bang that was thankfully stifled by the chatter of the students at the House Tables. Red glitter showered the tablecloth, and there was a sudden hail of foil-wrapped, multi-coloured sweets.

"Wow," exclaimed Airelle, opening one, "chocolate! Thanks, Hagrid; you sure know my taste. But why today?"

"Has yer head bin on yer shoulders lately?" he laughed heartily. "Today's Val'ntine's Day."

Airelle stared at him, feeling like an idiot. "Really?" she choked. "I must have forgotten. Well, err… thanks again, that was really nice of you."

"Ah, think nothin' of it," blushed the Care of Magical Creatures teacher. "Yer a good friend, hones'ly. But you should get out mor' often—how is it you don' know about Val'ntine's Day when everyone's bin talkin'?"

"No," she protested, "I know, but—"

"I'm jokin'!" Hagrid laughed again. "I know you do, but yer always so busy!"

"But—but—ah, nevermind," Airelle grinned, "it's useless to argue with you, just like with Professor Snape. Speaking of him… where is he, anyway?"

"Late, like you," answered Hagrid. "Missin' a holiday, too, shame. And the latest _Daily Prophets_ that're comin' in."

"What's this about?" asked Airelle.

"It's an out-of-the-ordinary edition," cut in Professor Flitwick, who had apparently been listening. "I'm very excited, it's about Hogwarts—ah, here they come now!"

"I didn't know the _Daily Prophet_ was delivered to the students, too," muttered Airelle as a hundred owls swooped into the hall, dropping letters and packages down to the tables. Many were newspapers, and almost all of the teachers received one. Airelle was no exception; Avalon was frantically flapping her wings, trying to both stay in the air and hold the giant _Daily Prophet_ in her claws. Upon finally reaching the professor, the little owl dropped like a stone, along with the newspaper, into Airelle's outstretched palms. Her black feathers were ruffled and stood on end, and Airelle let her drink from a juice cup. After doing so, Avalon nearly collapsed back into Airelle's hand and rested there. Gently placing the tiny owl onto her shoulder, the professor unwrapped the _Daily Prophet_ and leafed through the pages.

What she saw nearly made her faint.

On a subtopic column of the major Hogwarts story was written the following:

Valentine's Day Special: _An Unlikely Romance_ By Gilderoy Lockhart

_DP Special Correspondent, Best-Selling Author,_

_Order of Merlin, Third Class, Winner of Witch Weekly's Most_

_Charming Smile Award and Witch Weekly's Most Charming Media Wizard,_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts Crusader, and Former Hogwarts Professor_

It seems as if love is in the air for two very unusual people at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as yours truly has had the pleasure to witness in person. One is Professor Vilka, who has returned to teach Illusions at the school after spending nearly two decades as the leader of the famed "Suicide Squad," an elite group of Aurors who fought off You-Know-Who's forces when he was alive. Ms. Vilka, or Airelle (as she likes me to call her), is described by her peers as brilliant, but somewhat paranoid. Omar Fauks, the current Head Auror of the squad after Ms. Vilka's resignation, was very surprised to find me at his home in Edinburgh one January morning. "She loves her work very much," Mr. Fauks said with a heartfelt quaver in his voice that perhaps signified a deeper longing for affection than he'd revealed. Could it be that the slender, white-haired beauty has captured more than You-Know-Who's supporters, but the hearts of her colleagues as well? It certainly seems so, considering her behaviour at Hogwarts. She is well liked by most people, and can even be flirtatious, as I witnessed during my time at Hogsmeade in early December. As soon as I walked in the door, she stood up and shook my hand with a smile that could have melted the snowy caps of Mount Everest.

But currently, Airelle Vilka is very protective of her new interest, which brings us to our second half. That person is none other than Severus Snape, the man they call 'cold as ice.' Could Ms. Vilka have succeeded in dissolving that ice? Maybe, maybe. Professor Snape, who is the head of Slytherin House and teaches Potions at the school, is "not exactly Witch Weekly material," says a source, but perhaps that is precisely the reason for Airelle Vilka's affections; it is well known that the lady likes a challenge. Of course, it could also be the fact that the two were at school together years ago and were known to be inseparable until Graduation. Mr. Snape left to work on a project with some house-mates, and Ms. Vilka took up her job as an Auror for the incomparable Ministry of Magic. I speculate that she had longed to be reunited with him for years, and now that they are both professors at Hogwarts, Ms. Vilka has taken advantage of the opportunity. It may very well be so, since both of them are so reluctant to admit anything. Moreover, Professor Snape seems to be very jealous of any man who gets close to Ms. Vilka. For example, he said, "Careful, Gilderoy," when I attempted to have an interview with Ms. Vilka at Hogsmeade; and the rebuttal was in a voice that, frankly, scared me out of my wits. It happened again during the Yule Ball, when he pulled Ms. Vilka onto the dance floor so I could not continue my interview with her. Very possessive treatment, if you ask me personally; brusque.

In conclusion, I speak of this unusual pair: it pays to be careful. No matter how experienced or lovely a lady may be, some men are just not made of the fabric of love. Of course, not to brag, but I would not know; thanks to my wonderful admirers, I've never had trouble in love matters.

And right below the story was the winking countenance of Lockhart in his lilac robes and matching wizard's hat.

"I'm going to hurt him," whispered Airelle under her breath, abandoning her breakfast and standing up.

"What was that, Airelle?" asked Dumbledore pleasantly from his chair, his own newspaper lying (still untouched) next to his plate of eggs and fried ham.

"Ahem, I said…excuse me, Headmaster," she replied, not realizing she was mutilating a piece of toast in her hand. Looking down, she smiled sheepishly and set the rest of it on the table, shooing Avalon off towards the Owlery in the process. _Just wait 'til the rest of the school reads this…and Snape… oh, boy…_

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Remus Lupin called after her as Airelle walked out the door very slowly, trying with all her might not to storm out instead.

As expected, Snape was furious.

"That does it! Dig Lockhart a grave and call him dead, because very soon, he will be," he snarled, rolling up his sleeves and heading out the door. Airelle, however, having regained her sanity by then, latched onto her friend's arm and would not let go.

"Come on, do you think the publicity will be better if you go barging into the _Daily Prophet_ headquarters like a raving lunatic?" she asked, pulling backwards with all her might. "And really, no one in the school will probably believe that story anyway. Like you said, we haven't them given any reason to. So, they'll have a good laugh and forget about it."

"That's not the reason I'm angry, Airelle," he replied slowly, turning around and disengaging her hand from his robes.

"Then why?"

"Voldemort," was the response. Snape turned and walked back into the otherwise empty classroom, and began pacing in front of the desk. "Even if he won't believe everything that selfish git Lockhart wrote, this story will make him watch you more closely. This means trouble for the both of us. I do not want his attention focused on you, for any reason."

"Hmm… then you _are_ possessive," she smirked. "However Lockhart may have twisted our words, some of it is true."

"That is not funny."

"I'm just trying to make you less tense," said Airelle, placing her hands on his shoulders to stop him from pacing. "Now, listen: you said it would not matter if I were your lover or not. Our friendship is enough. So… whether Voldemort believes this or not doesn't matter. And about his keeping an eye on me… let him."

"This isn't a game," warned Snape, facing her. "I know you're tough, but I do not want to take chances anyway."

"I'm a big girl," she answered. "And I know how to use a wand. Look, allow me to take care of the problem, with your help. Voldemort may go after me, and if he does, he'll do it no matter what Lockhart writes, because I am your friend. If he realizes that—which he probably already does—nothing will stop him. So, we only have to be alert, that's all."

Snape looked at her for a moment, then sighed. "You've altered your tune since Christmas," he said softly. "You were so afraid of what would happen if Voldemort found out about us—but now, you're being nonchalant about it."

"You were the one who helped me change my mind," she replied, grinning. "And it was for the better; if Voldemort strikes, we must be ready no matter what sort of news is out there. And as for Gilderoy…he'll get what is due to him later. You and I shall make sure of that."

Snape was looking somewhat calmer now, and his face stretched into a thin smile. "Hopefully, it'll come off as you say," he said, lowering his voice even further. "But just in case, as far as Hogwarts is concerned… let's keep our nocturnal trysts to a minimum for now."

"Will do," answered Airelle promptly. "My limbs haven't been this sore since my Auror training."

The Potions professor arched his eyebrows, and Airelle began to snigger. "God, I love it when you look puzzled," she said between laughs, breaking her friend's ensuing sneer by a deep French kiss. It was the first time she'd ever done it outside of bed-quarters, and in the back of her mind, two voices suddenly began to make their presence known.

_-Wow. You should try this on the stairs next. Although who knows what that can lead to? Heh…_

_ You cannot be serious, Airelle. Stop this at once; what if someone comes into the room?_

_ -Ah, don't listen to her, 'Relle. We both know you find the idea thrilling. It's the risk that brings half the pleasure._

_Professor Vilka! AHEM! Are you a complete idiot? Just imagine…IF PEEVES WERE WATCHING! It'll be all over the school in half a second. Then, Lockhart will truly have a field day with you two!!_

Airelle severed the kiss with a reluctant groan. "This really _is_ getting out of hand," she said shakily. "Perhaps the secretive nature of this affair is precisely what is making me so drawn to taking chances with it. I mean, honestly, I'm thinking of the comfort possibilities of the dark wardrobe in the staff room right now."

Snape's resultant smile was sinful. "Naturally. It is one of the facets of the human psyche. Danger is attractive, you know. People love reading about it or watching it from a safe position… but only a few choose to really delve deep into it."

"Like myself," smirked Airelle.

"Indeed," he said. "After all, you're my friend, not to mention my paramour. That in itself is hazardous to your health."

The ex-Auror laughed. "Come to think of it, you're right. I've been running around with danger all my life—first you as a friend, then my job, now you again. Frankly, I need a vacation…"

"Wait a minute," Snape interrupted in a whisper, raising a hand. "Did you hear that?"

"No."

"Someone's coming," he said quickly, and crossed the classroom towards the door. Airelle chose to inconspicuously stand next to the desk.

Yes, there were definitely footsteps coming swiftly down the dungeon corridor. A shadow made its way across the wall, and a person in black student robes waddled by the classroom door. But he stopped in the middle, peering into the room at Snape and looking startled. It was Neville.

"Professor!" he squeaked.

Snape looked relentless. "What are you doing down here, Longbottom? Your place is in the Gryffindor common room."

Neville's eyes shifted from Snape to Airelle, and he suddenly looked much happier. "Oh, Professor… I was looking for you."

"Yes, Neville?" she asked, stepping forward and fighting an urge to elbow Snape in the ribs. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, n… nothing much," said the boy quickly, looking at Snape again. "It's just that…Harry wants to see you. I believe it's about a spell…"

"Where is he?" the Illusions professor inquired, ignoring the lethal look on Snape's face.

"I think he is outside… somewhere near the lake."

"Tell him I'll be there shortly," she said, and Neville nodded.

"By the way," he said, walking off, "happy Valen—" He abruptly cut himself off, seeing the _Daily Prophet_ clenched in Snape's hand. "Uh, never mind," Neville added, and ran, leaving Airelle smiling gently behind him. Snape was scowling, but…then again, what else was new?

Spring was coming; Airelle could feel it in the air— the cool breeze sang of it. Soon, it would be warm and green again; some stubborn grass was already peeking through the thawing ground. The lake rippled in the afternoon sun, and looked magnificent. Not even the tentacles that stuck out of it here and there could ruin the image.

She found Harry Potter sitting underneath a tall tree on a sloping hill overlooking the lake. He had a book strewn across his lap, but didn't seem to be reading it. Suddenly, Airelle wondered what he'd really called her there for. It was just a vague notion, but—

"Ahem," she said.

The fifth-year looked up, as if shocked that she'd actually arrived. "Hello, Professor Vilka," he replied, looking down at her as she ascended the hill.

"And greetings to you, Potter," she answered. "Do you want to have a little chat?"

"Uh…sure, of course. You can sit down, if you like."

"Thank you," said Airelle, and lifted up her robes slightly so she could join him on the grass. "It's a lovely view from up here, indeed."

Harry nodded, barely. Airelle knew he wanted to ask her something, but was too afraid to tell Neville, so he made up this story to get her here.

"I take it you don't want to discuss spells, eh?" she inquired warmly.

There was no response for a long time. And then--

"Professor?"

"Yes, Potter?" She felt almost as if she were addressing James all over again. Only this time, it was not in a negative fashion.

"Please, call me Harry," said the boy, looking slightly pink with embarrassment.

"All right then," Airelle gladly conceded. "Harry. Therefore, it's only fair to tell you not to be surprised if I call you James by accident. You resemble him a great deal, you know."

"I know," said Harry quietly, staring at the grass. "I've seen…pictures… of him and my mother, Lily. Did you know her, too?"

"Yes."

"So then… that's what I've been meaning to talk to you about all the time, but never had the chance, not even at Hagrid's place."

"Something bothering you, Harry?" asked Airelle, propping herself up against the tree to be more comfortable.

"Not really bothering," he answered with a shrug. "It's just that… well, Professor Lupin was friends with my parents, but he's always busy, and Sirius Black—" He trailed off. Airelle looked sideways at the boy for just a moment, and wondered what he would've thought if he'd heard the conversation between Lupin and Snape on the night of the Yule Ball. Snape had accused the other of sneaking Black into Hogwarts. Airelle had also discovered that for some reason, Dumbledore trusted Black. But just how much of this did Potter know?

After a while, the conversation picked up again, and Harry said, "If it doesn't bother you too much… could you tell me about my parents?"

Airelle sighed. 'Well, I don't see why not… Let me think. I suppose we should start with your mother, yes-- Lily Evans."

Harry's eyes lit up, and he stared at her ravenously. Airelle knew that she could never hope to understand what was rumbling through his brain. He wanted to cling onto the past, as much as he could get of it. Having been orphaned at such an early age, and treated horrendously by the Dursleys, Harry had been secluded from his family history. It was true; one's ancestors helped get a better sense of oneself.

"Lily Evans," repeated Airelle slowly. "She was a beautiful young lady, I must admit… hair as red as the very inside of a burning candle, and emerald green eyes just like yours. Very intelligent, too—she beat me out for Head Girl." The professor laughed. "I still envy her for that one. But anyway… I did not know too much about her family, save for her Muggle sister--Petunia, was it?"

"Yes," replied Harry morosely.

"I often heard Lily telling stories," continued Airelle, "about how Petunia hated magic and the tricks she used to play on her for mock revenge. Your mother was very enthusiastic, full of energy and vitality. It is a shame that you never had the chance to know her."

"Were you friends?"

"I'll tell you the truth, Harry—no," said Airelle. "But we were not enemies, either. Just intellectual rivals, that's all. I actually learned much from watching her persuasiveness. It's helped get me to my leadership position in the 'Suicide Squad.' The main reason, however, for us not being friends, aside from our rivalry—" Here, Airelle paused, not knowing whether to go on. Finally, she decided to do so. "—was the fact that Lily Evans was a friend, and later a girlfriend, of a boy named James Potter."

"You really hated him, didn't you?" asked Harry boldly. Airelle sighed.

"You know, not really," she said, "not in the way you think. I could've lived with James Potter; we were in different houses, and for all his pranks, he had a good and brave heard that he passed on to you. Now that I reflect back on those times, I realize I did not despise him. Harry, I'll be sincere—he annoyed me sometimes… quite often, actually… with the things he and his gang of Marauders did. However, I would have never wished a fate like his on my worst adversary. I've gotten over my childhood hostilities… which is why you won't see me trying to duel with Remus Lupin every chance I get."

She looked at him, and discovered in his eyes that they were somehow both thinking the same thing-- _You may have left the past… but someone else hasn't._

"Professor Snape," said Airelle suddenly, jerking Harry out of his trance, "is a very interesting person. Believe me, Harry," she added, seeing that the boy looked a bit revolted, "I have known him over the period of more than two decades. He is my best friend; I shall not deny it. And I will readily give my life for him if, heaven forbid, it is necessary."

"But how could you," Harry whispered, probably not even noticing that he was voicing his thoughts aloud, "be friends with someone… someone like that? Someone who is so mean, and he…"

"Hated your father with a passion," finished Airelle gently. "That I shall not deny either; you know it already, I see. But as I said in Hagrid's cabin—Professor Snape is a good man—with his own twisted sense of justice, true—but a good man nonetheless. Who knows, there may even be something righteous in your own rival, Draco Malfoy."

Harry snorted.

"No," said Airelle. "Trust me on this one. The time will come—maybe sooner than we think—when the real cowards are separated from the brave. And I assure you, Severus Snape is probably the most valiant person I have ever laid eyes on."

Harry lowered his head; it looked like he understood, at least.

"Can you tell me more about my family?" he finally asked, and Airelle smiled.

"Certainly. What do you wish to know?"

"Well… I have so many questions—I don't even know where to begin—what were they like? What kind of food was their favourite? What was their best-liked class? What—"

"Slow down!" laughed Airelle good-naturedly. "We'll be sitting here until next year if you keep talking. Now, I do not know of their preferences for cuisine or education, but I do know this—your father was an excellent Quidditch player, and Lily was a devoted spectator. James was a Chaser for the Gryffindor team, as you may be aware."

"Have you ever seen him play?"

"Of course," said Airelle. "I played against him myself, seeing that I was a Chaser for Ravenclaw back in the day—took loads of practice on my old Cleansweep to catch up to him. Everyone knew James was good. Sort of like you. Except you are a Seeker, and that's even tougher. You are a natural crowd pleaser, Harry, and you take after him in the sport. Your moves on that Firebolt are unlike any I've ever seen. You should consider doing it professionally. Either that," she grinned, "or use those superb flying abilities to help you become an Auror."

Harry smiled back. "Moody—or, the fake Professor Moody, rather—told me and Hermione about considering it."

"And Death Eater or not," she chuckled, "I don't think he was joking. Lord Voldemort would not be too happy to see you on the battlefield, I bet."

Harry looked up sharply. "You said his name."

Airelle shrugged. "I see it this way… if Voldemort has me cornered, he'll kill me whether I call him You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Voldemort, or the Dancing Daisy. It makes no difference… so why make it sound like you are afraid when what you are really wary of is the real thing? A rose, by any other word… well, you get the picture."

"Oh," said Harry.

"Now, let's see… what else can I tell you?" Airelle continued. "James and Lily, James and Lily… it was the talk of the school when they began dating. 'Someone had actually snagged the elusive, dark-haired dreamboat,' they would whisper. I knew before anyone else did, honestly—because news travels fast throughout the Quidditch teams. Those two went everywhere together…Hogsmeade, especially. Lily and James gave the infamous 'Romance Hill' its name, you know."

The boy blushed. "Seriously?"

"Mm-hmm. They were the perfect couple, had everything going for them… after I left Hogwarts to become an Auror, I heard about their wedding. There were even pictures of it in the _Daily Prophet._ I owled them my congratulations." She paused. "Some time afterwards, I was in the hospital recovering from a Death Eater encounter… and I heard about… what happened."

The afternoon sun was beginning to set behind the horizon… how long had they been sitting there? Airelle looked out towards the lake. The giant squid had subsided and gone to rest as well.

"Harry," she said softly, "if I could change anything in my lifetime, it would be that I had another chance to know your parents better. They were good people, just like you. They're watching everything, I know; and I'll bet anything they wouldn't want you to waste away dwelling on them. Harry… live the way they'd want you to, and tuck the memories away in your heart."

"It's not that easy," he replied. "I wish they could be here with me."

"We wish for much," Airelle said, "but we just have to make do with what heaven grants us. I have wishes, too…" She paused again, feeling a stabbing pain in her heart. Even after all this, after she was Snape's paramour…she still could not forget what happened at Graduation. But like she said herself… it did not need to be forgotten; just put away. "I want to be a student like you again, young and carefree. But time catches up with everyone, and just as it takes us away from the past, it also heals our wounds. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, Professor."

And there was silence.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Thanks."

She gave him a smile he couldn't see. "You're welcome. Anytime."

Airelle did not know how much longer they sat side by side watching the lake. However, the swish of robes and her own inner sense snapped her out of her evening daze. Someone was coming up the hill, and she didn't even need to look up to know who.

"Potter," said Severus Snape coldly, his feet stopping a few meters away from them. "Get back to your common room, now."

"Why?" asked Airelle, finally glancing up at Snape. "He isn't doing anything wrong—"

But she regretted her words when she saw her friend's face. It was even more deathly pale than usual; his lips were thin and drawn-looking.

"The Headmaster has ordered all students to return to their common rooms immediately," said the Potions Master, while Airelle stared at him oddly. Tearing her eyes away for a moment, Airelle turned to Harry.

"Go on, then, Mr. Potter," she urged him gently. Harry blinked, then stood up and left without another word or backward glance. As Airelle watched his retreating figure, Snape came closer.

"What was that all about?" she asked. "What's happened?"

"Dumbledore has called an emergency staff meeting," was the reply. "We must come immediately."

Airelle was almost afraid to ask. "Why?"

Snape's black eyes glittered, and not in a good way. "There's been another attack."

To Be Continued…


	21. Staff Meeting

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 21 Staff Meeting

Harry Potter had already disappeared from view as Airelle and Snape walked back towards the school. "So, who is it?" she asked impatiently, her face laden with worry. If it was another student—or Neville, even—

"Delilah," said Snape shortly.

"You mean, Delilah Haze? But she's—"

"In the infirmary, not awake yet," he finished. "Looks like our friend attempted to finish her off for good."

She gasped. "Did—"

"As far as I know, no, he did not succeed. However," added Snape, and his look was deadly serious, "you know what this means."

Airelle's dark eyes narrowed to slits. "He's still in the school."

"Maybe, maybe not. It is unlikely…perhaps he's gone back to the Forbidden Forest… or somewhere else…"

Airelle knew what Snape was thinking – maybe Sirius Black had betrayed Dumbledore's trust? Why wouldn't he, if he was responsible for the death of the Potters in the first place? She bit her lip and joined the other professor in silence as they briskly ascended the steps to the main entrance.

"We must inform the Headmaster to send a dispatch to check Hogsmeade as soon as possible," Snape finally muttered. They were walking through a corridor now. "Perhaps the attacker went into hiding there."

"Do the students know?"

"Not yet, at least. We'll find out as soon as we get to the staff room."

Airelle suddenly squeezed Snape's arm. "This spells real trouble for us," she said quietly. "Will we know what to do if we come face-to-face with him?"

Snape did not look at her. "Like you said… you're a big girl. I trust you not to do anything foolish."

There was a long silence before she replied. "Will do."

The staff room was an old paneled room with dusty chairs and a wardrobe on the far side. Most of the professors were already assembled there, including McGonagall and Dumbledore. Professor Sprout was in the corner, trying to comfort a hysterically sobbing Madame Pomfrey. Airelle stopped staring for just long enough to sit in her chair, next to the wardrobe. Then she resumed surveying the scene.

Dumbledore looked extremely grave as he addressed the congregation. "Are all the students in their common rooms, being overseen by the prefects?"

McGonagall nodded, looking pale.

"Good. Now…someone," continued Dumbledore with a nod of acknowledgement at the Head of Gryffindor, "has entered the school and tried to kill Ms. Delilah Haze."

There were only a few gasps; most of the people assembled already knew why they were there. Somewhere in the corner, Madame Pomfrey tried valiantly to stifle her sobs.

"Is the school secure?" asked Dumbledore.

"Yes, Headmaster," said Professor Flitwick, who was clutching his wand nervously. "Professor Lupin and I swept-checked it for Dark Magic and found only remnants. There is no trace of the attacker."

_Speaking of Professor Lupin,_ thought Airelle, glancing around the room, _where is he?_

Her vision had not deceived her; Remus Lupin was missing. Airelle caught Snape's eye and he did not look pleased at all. Lupin had disappeared the night of the Yule Ball, too. Airelle was beginning to have serious doubts about the Sirius Black issue. But Lupin--he couldn't…

"I expect you all to be on guard, nevertheless," said the Headmaster warningly. "This is not a time to be hesitant."

"If I might have permission to speak, Headmaster," said Snape from his chair, and Airelle looked in his direction. Was he going to announce his suspicions?

"Go ahead, Severus," said Dumbledore gently.

"Thank you. I would advise a more thorough check, both of the school and Hogsmeade. I have reason to believe that the attacker may have found another way into Hogwarts from the village."

"Certainly, Severus," was the reply. "I shall send volunteers as soon as this meeting is over."

"What exactly happened?" asked Professor Sinistra cautiously, and Dumbledore settled back in his chair.

"Since Poppy is in no condition to speak, I shall—"

"Wait," came a voice from the corner. Everyone turned to see Madame Pomfrey let go of Professor Sprout and walk towards the center of the room. "If I may be so bold," she said shakily, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief, "I would like for them to know the whole thing."

"Of course, Poppy," said Dumbledore, "do what you will."

"Thank you, Headmaster," she sniffed, and settled down in a cushioned seat next to Hagrid. All eyes were on her as she looked up and spoke. Airelle's stomach tightened. Why did she have to be away talking to Harry when this occurred? She'd planned to visit the hospital wing that afternoon—perhaps she could've prevented this…

"I was working on a magic salve in the infirmary," began Madame Pomfrey slowly, re-living the memory, "when I heard a sound from the patient room. At first I thought it was my imagination, but then it came again. It sounded like the opening and closing of a door." She paused, and the room held its breath. "Then, I grew upset, thinking that someone had entered without knocking, perhaps a student. And," –she half-laughed miserably—"you know how I am about visits. Ms. Haze needed her rest; she was showing signs of good progress, even though she was still unconscious. I stomped into the room, ready to yell at the person—"

Here, she trailed off, breaking into sobs again. Hagrid clapped her shoulder with a huge hand, and Airelle sank down in her chair. This was bad. Even Snape looked disturbed.

It was a full two minutes before Madame Pomfrey composed herself again. Then, she said, "When I walked inside, my voice stuck in my throat. There was—a figure… right in front of Ms. Haze's bed. It wore a black cloak with a red hood… and I didn't see the face. Its wand was pointed at Delilah's prone form. There had been no words spoken, so I knew it had not hurt the girl yet… but I was frozen with fear. Before I could do anything… it… it saw me. And, the wand was suddenly pointed at me." Another pause. "I'll never forget the surge of hatred that spewed from this person… even without the wand… it was dreadful. And a second later—he… he said, 'Avada Kedavra.'"

Airelle gulped, and several of the other professors flinched. The Killing Curse… but then, how did Madame Pomfrey survive?

"He would've killed me," said Pomfrey. "He really would have. After all, he did say the words, and I knew I was going to die then and there, the only witness. But… but then, I felt something soft at my…at my chest…" She broke off again. "My poor… poor Irja…"

Airelle knew the name. Irja was Madame Pomfrey's pet Kneazle, a devoted cat-like creature.

"She… she jumped in front of me right before the curse hit… and it hit her instead. She died…died to save me."

"And then," said Dumbledore, "you drew your wand."

"Yes," she replied. "The figure was apparently in shock, and ran out just as Irja hit the floor. I couldn't stop him."

"Is Delilah well?" asked Snape. His eyes were narrowed and glittering.

"Oh…oh, yes, she is. He did not have a chance to kill her, thank heavens."

The room was drenched in silence. No one seemed to know what to say. One of their own had come too close to death, right inside a supposedly safe place. This was too much for Airelle, and she gripped the knob of the wardrobe she was sitting next to, for lack of doing anything else with her hands.

And it was then that she felt it.

Something was inside the wardrobe.

Airelle's first thought was to jump up and swing the door open. If it was the attacker—but who'd be stupid enough to hide in a wardrobe? Then again, this room was old… maybe he thought the teachers would never check here… Or what if it was a boggart or one of those dark-dwelling creatures?

She glanced around. No one, apparently, knew of this predicament. The inside of the wardrobe had shifted very slightly, just enough for her hand to feel it. Everyone else was too far away from Airelle's chair, and did not see anything.

"So," Dumbledore continued as Airelle wondered frantically what to do, "it is understood that everyone is to follow emergency procedure this weekend and all next week. Cancel evening activities, and also… more guards should be put in the corridors."

"What shall we tell the students?" someone asked, and Dumbledore paused thoughtfully.

"This time, I do not want a panic. This person is not after just anybody. Tell the students that evening activities are cancelled for next week because of a spell gone awry. Until we can fix it, it is not safe to go out at night. By that time, we will check Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. And one more thing… Minerva…"

"Yes, Albus?" asked McGonagall, looking worried.

"I want you, and all of you, to keep an eye on Neville Longbottom especially," said Dumbledore. "As I said earlier, this attacker is not after just anybody. He wants to silence Delilah Haze… and it is possible that he may go after Mr. Longbottom, since he is the other person who has encountered the attacker at the Yule Ball. I leave that job to you, Minerva… and also, " he added, turning in the direction of the wardrobe, "to you, Airelle, since most of Mr. Longbottom's academic pursuits involve Illusions. You spend extra time with him, and that is why I ask you to watch him. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, Headmaster," nodded Airelle, not letting go of the wardrobe knob.

"Excellent. We shall get started right away. Rubeus, will you…"

At that, Dumbledore began to address the individual professors, and his voice was lost to Airelle, who was still trying to figure out what to do about the wardrobe. She had desperately wanted to speak with Dumbledore about Sirius Black, but this current problem stuck in her mind and demanded undivided attention.

Finally, she decided, _Better to be safe than dead, _and was just about to point her wand at the doorknob, when she heard a whisper.

Airelle lowered her wand. There was no mistaking that voice.

Slowly, the professors began to file out. Snape threw a brief look at Airelle before leaving with Dumbledore. She motioned him to go on, and find out as much as possible. She'd be fine. Hopefully.

The door closed after a while, leaving Airelle alone with the wardrobe. Pursing her lips, Airelle stepped back noiselessly and waited.

Ten minutes passed before something in the wardrobe shifted again. And then—

"Think they're gone?" whispered a voice.

"I don't hear anything, do you?" said another one.

"Nope."

"Thank God, I thought we were done for."

"Just your crazy idea to walk into the staff room and play matchmaker for teachers!"

"But that was an accident! It's not my fault they had to come in here and we had to hide! I must say, though, I TOLD you Snape and Professor Vilka look sweet together! Did you read the paper today?"

"Well, Lockhart's an idiot, but…hehe, he's got a point…"

"Did you hear what the teachers said? Someone tried to kill Delilah!"

"I know. D'you think it could have anything to do with—"

"Oh, just be quiet, and let's get out of here."

"I would have already, if I could unlock this stupid door…"

"Oh, it took you this long--" There was a shuffle. "Abrete!"

The wardrobe door swung open in a shower of sparks from a wand. Airelle leaned on the wall and watched calmly as two figures in student robes stumbled out of the darkness onto the floor. They barely had time to wipe the dust off themselves before they saw her and froze in horror.

"Why, Miss Patts, Miss Tylon," said Airelle, "what an interesting place to meet."

Tracy Patts smoothed her black hair and promptly said, "We're dead." Her friend Alica could do nothing but nod. Airelle crossed her arms and looked down upon the two Ravenclaws.

She did not know what made her do it. Maybe it was pity for the girls. Perhaps it was the fact that once upon a time, Airelle had also hidden in this very room from a teacher. Or maybe it was something entirely different. Whatever it was, it made Airelle say, "Go."

Alica stared at her numbly. "What?"

"Out, before Professor Snape comes back and sees you two aren't in your common room. It's not safe to be caught in these hallways late nowadays."

Tracy Patts looked shocked. "But…but…"

"On one condition," said Airelle. "Whatever you heard in this room stays here. If I discover that you have told any students about this, I will have no choice but to—"

"Yes, Professor, we get the point," said Alica hurriedly, looking like a person freed from death row. "Thank you…we'll… be leaving now." And she left, pulling the stunned Tracy behind her, and leaving Airelle alone with her thoughts and worries.

"Could you quit pacing, please? You are making me dizzy," said Snape, causing Airelle to halt in her tracks on the carpet.

"I don't understand how you can be calm in such a serious situation," she replied, crossing her arms. "I thought you'd be more worried than this!"

It was amazing how Snape could look so nonchalant while sitting shirtless in bed and holding a shot-glass full of gin. "If you wanted me to run around screaming in a panic like I'm on fire," he said, "I'm far past that age."

Airelle fought hard not to make a sour face at him. "Look, all I'm saying is… shouldn't we at least do something?"

"Such as what? Airelle, I'll confess—I believe the issue is more sinister than anything we may fathom, and shall not be solved easily. What Delilah knows may affect not just her, but the whole of Hogwarts."

Airelle finally stopped striding back and forth, and sat on the edge of the bed. "Do you think Voldemort may be involved more than he says?"

Snape nodded. "I strongly suspect he has lied to me and the others. But the question is--why? What does Delilah Haze know that is so important?"

She sighed. "Do you think we'll find out in time?"

"The only way," said Snape, "is to find the attacker and make him tell us the truth."

"Is this a time issue?"

"Maybe. What we really need is to keep our eyes open, and hope Delilah awakens before another assault occurs."

Airelle looked down onto the sheets, and sighed again. "What do you propose we do?"

"I'm thinking of the possibilities," the Potions Master replied, and drank the gin straight. "I could contact Voldemort and try to discover what he's hiding… _if_ he's hiding anything."

"That would be too risky," said Airelle as Snape set the shot-glass on the bedside table. The candle on the Correspondence Candle-Holder that she'd given him for Christmas winked brightly, without a worry or care in the world.

"What's life without a few risks?" he asked with a rare smile that he only adopted in his bed. Airelle wasn't comforted this time; the question did not concern a laughing matter.

"It's a risk I'm not willing to take, and you are perfectly aware of it," she said sternly, climbing closer to him and throwing the sheets over them. Airelle was still dressed, but she seemed not to remember that.

Snape propped a pillow up to support himself and pulled her into his lap. "Calm yourself," he said. "I thought we had an agreement. You know I won't do anything idiotic."

"If I express a doubt right now, will you smack me with a pillow?"

"You bet."

"All right then," she said, smiling back. "I trust you. I just have to get used to this."

"Don't worry, in any case. I'm still debating on whether to bring Voldemort into this matter. I have other choices as well, ones that you don't, since I'm still technically a Death Eater."

"You're going to tell me what they are, or what?"

"Soon, but not now. I have too little information," was his response. "Will you have faith in me until then?"

Airelle scowled, even though her eyes betrayed the smile that should have been there. "You know I will, you manipulative scoundrel," she said. "If I share a bed with you, you'd think I trust you."

"That's not always the case with every couple."

"I know. But with us, it is."

"I hope it remains so… even though I know the idea of full-scale trust is still green in your mind."

Airelle grinned. "As it is in yours. But I hope so, too."

"Mm-hmm. So," he asked, tilting her chin up so she could look him in the eyes, "do I have the right to act on my notions?"

"Yes, and tell me when you feel it's necessary," she replied without flinching. "I may be pushy, but I won't pry. Promise."

"Thank you," he said. "Now, we should really get to sleep, it is very late. Don't think about this matter until tomorrow morning. We aren't going out to look for the attacker right now."

"Still…you know," she mused, fingering a strand of his long black hair, "you would not just go to bed this calmly unless you had a plan formulating in your head."

"Ah, you read me like a book," he laughed. "Why am I not surprised?"

"More like a book with the word PLAN written at the top, and everything else in a foreign language," said Airelle softly. "Merlin's beard, Lockhart was right. This _is_ the most unlikely romance I've ever even imagined—and I'm right in the middle of it!"

"Or, currently, on top of it."

Airelle raised an eyebrow, but grinned anyway. "Remember, I don't blush anymore, thanks to _you_."

"Oh," the Potions professor murmured, nuzzling her neck, "such a shame, too. I remember a time when you were innocent…"

"And _speaking_ of Lockhart," Airelle said quickly, because Snape's slender, nimble fingers had slipped inside her robes, "what _are_ we going to do about him? I mean, of course, he cannot go on writing… nonsense--" (here, she had to smile) "–like that ghastly article in the _Daily Prophet_…"

Snape paused for a moment and looked thoughtful. "Hmm… I haven't considered it. Perhaps I'll send him a Silencing Curse that'll clamp his mouth shut for weeks."

"SNAPE!! We can't curse him! No matter how much he needs it," she added after a while in a quieter tone.

"Well then, what do you recommend, mm?" He pushed up suddenly, and they rolled over. The whole scenario ended with Airelle being pinned to the bed, more even by Snape's gaze than his body. It was, honestly, a no-go against the man in a staring contest. She could withstand it for a long time, but not for as long as she would've liked. In any case, who said it was a bad thing?

Airelle was just on the brink of coherent thought at this point, and tried to utter her next words very fast, before she lost it totally. "Well, I… umm, I'll think about…err…what to do…"

"Why do you always lose your sense of articulateness in such a… situation?" he asked, clearly knowing why, and enjoying the fact to the fullest.

"Keep talking, and you'll have a sudden lack of blood flow," she scowled, clutching a pillow next to them in a threatening manner. Snape, of course, gave her a dark smile and blew out the candle. Well, not actually _blew_ it out – this time, he deliberately licked his finger and pressed it on the wick. It went out with a hiss.

_Seduction, thy name is Slytherin, _laughed Airelle mentally. _Although didn't Snape say, earlier today, that we were going to keep our "nocturnal trysts" to a minimum? Hah._

The fireplace was nearly dead when Airelle opened her eyes. The chimes of the magical clock proved that it was the dead of night. A melancholy silence prevailed, and shadows played on the walls with the extinguishing light of the flame.

Her whole body felt raw; her forehead and neck were still torrid with lines of sweat dancing on the skin. Snape had been extremely thorough that night, so Airelle should have slept like a baby afterwards. But here she was, awake in the wee hours between midnight and dawn, staring up at the canopy. Something invisible was continuously gnawing at her.

And apparently, she wasn't the only one being bothered by it. The curtains on Snape's side of the bed were open, and the sheets were cold. He'd been up for a while…

Suddenly finding herself shivering, Airelle clutched the sheets tight around herself and moved silently to the crack in the curtains. In the dim light that enveloped her vision when she peeked out, Airelle could see a motionless figure standing on the carpet. Snape was wearing a long black bathrobe she'd never seen before. His profile faced the mini-organ in the wall, and Airelle, squinting, could see that his arms were crossed and his dark eyes were fixed on the keys.

She wanted to say something, but thought better of it. Snape was deep in his thoughts, and judging by his posture, those thoughts were anything but pleasant. He ran a hand through his curtain of ebony hair and massaged his temples, not taking his gaze off the organ. Although…Airelle doubted if he saw the instrument at all at this point.

So much for him not worrying.

To Be Continued…

A/N: So this was short. Sue me. NO, WAIT! I was joking! JOKING DAMMIT! So, review, tell me, how do you like? Do you want more battle, less bedroom? Vice versa? Anyway, I don't think there'll be anymore silk sheet scenes because we're getting to the climax of the story (NO PUN INTENDED THERE, ahem Tracy!:)), but hey, you never know. Anyway, soon it'll really get good, and mysteries shall begin to unravel. Just you wait! nasty smile Honestly, I'm an angel.

A/N #2: Anyone wanna see Harry Potter on the big screen? Well, I went to see the movie Osmosis Jones (live action was bad, animation rocked—GO THRAX!!) and the second HP trailer was one of the previews. Seeing Snape magnified 30 times on the big screen was an interesting experience, to be sure. And you gotta love that accent! :)


	22. White Bumblebee

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 22 ~ White Bumblebee

A/N: The title is a translation of Albus Dumbledore's name, in case some of you didn't know. :)

            Whatever plans Severus Snape may have had on his mind, he was keeping them mum.  Before Airelle knew it, another two long months hurtled by, and there was silence from both sides.  Neither Lord Voldemort nor Dumbledore had summoned the Potions Master for a little chat concerning the Yule Ball or the Valentine's Day attacks.  However much Airelle disliked the idea, she almost wished for Voldemort to make contact with Snape and provide a clue or some information.  But there was absolutely nothing new as the Easter holidays approached, and Airelle was beginning to get nervous.

            This, however, did not seem to be the case with the rest of the school.  Now that Delilah's room was doubly protected and Neville was being watched (much to his dismay, the security trolls even followed him to the bathroom), most of the professors seemed to think that no one would dare make a move.  Even Dumbledore had regained much of his light-heartedness; but Airelle was far from worry-free.  The missing notebook that Alica and Tracy had taken remained an important piece of the puzzle that did not fit.  And also, there was that Sirius Black issue…

            These, and other, thoughts were what preoccupied the Illusions professor's brain as there came a change in weather.  February melted into March, then April; the forest and grounds around the castle were in full bloom; and, as before, the students were cheery.

            Airelle knew better.  Her problem lay in piecing the whole tale together.  But a crucial part – something – was absent, and Airelle hoped that Snape's plans involved uncovering that something.  She chose to remain in denial about the fact that they didn't even know what they were looking for.  One thing was fairly certain – they'd know when they'd find it.

            But in the meantime, while her best friend and lover plotted, Airelle had to try and focus more on her classes.  No matter what anyone said, being a teacher was twenty times more difficult than being a student.  Thankfully, most of her pupils had performed exceptionally on their mid-year exams in January, and those who had not were catching up.  With all of her workload, Airelle eventually found that she was going to collapse under her own mental weight if she did not receive some help.  So, it was with a half-inquiry, half-plea that Airelle Vilka made her way to Albus Dumbledore's office on a Tuesday morning in April.

            "Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans!" she announced, but the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance did not move.  Yawning (for it was still very early), Airelle thought hard.  What was that blasted password again?  She'd been in Dumbledore's office on numerous occasions before, including prior to the Yule Ball, but he'd obviously changed it since that time.

            "Erm… Chocolate Frogs?" she tried.  Nothing.

            Frustrated, Airelle kept calling out different things the number of which could've been compiled for a list of every confection known to wizards.

            "Gadlee's Giggling Ice-Cream!  Blood-flavored lollipops!"

            Instantly, the gargoyle sprang aside, leaving Airelle to stare at the empty passageway in shock.

            "That was the password?" she muttered, stepping through and onto a spiral staircase that was moving up like a Muggle escalator.  "Sheesh, I thought Dumbledore hated those…"

            Finally, the stairs brought her to a halt in front of a gigantic oak door with a gleaming brass knocker.  Raising it, the professor was just about to strike when—

            "Good morning, Airelle," said Dumbledore, opening the door and nearly causing her to topple back down the staircase in astonishment.  "Won't you come in?  I've been expecting you."

            _Why am I not surprised?_ thought Airelle, and smiled at him.  "Thank you, Headmaster," she replied, and entered the round office.  Fawkes, Dumbledore's beautiful pet phoenix, ruffled his crimson-and-gold feathers in his cage gently.  Airelle grinned at the greeting.

            "Come, make yourself comfortable," gestured the elder wizard, seating himself at his desk.  Obligingly, Airelle put herself in a chair opposite him.

            "So, what shall we talk about?" he asked pleasantly.  Airelle paused.

            "Headmaster, I…"

            "Would you like some tea before we begin?" asked Dumbledore, holding up a mug.  "I had it imported from China last week."

            "Certainly, why not?" she answered, coughing slightly.

            With a wave of Dumbledore's wand, the teapot floated over and poured the hot liquid into Airelle's mug.  She took a sip and stared at him.

            "Ahem…" The perusing presence of the Headmaster's twinkling gaze on her was unsettling, but she tried not to cast her eyes down.  After all, it would look like she was hiding something.  And hide things, she did, that was certain.

            Dumbledore drummed his fingers on the desk and said, "I understand you need an extra hand to help you with the rest of the year."

            "Yes, sir," she replied, drinking some more tea.  It felt oddly comforting.  "After the Christmas break, especially.  Now I understand how Professor Lupin felt about needing an assistant… I think I may need one, too.  Not that I'm incompetent of doing it on my own," she added quickly, seeing that the wizard was looking at her intently, "but it would be a great help to me and the students.  I could teach them much more quickly if I had a… partner."

            "Do none of the professors in the school satisfy you?" he asked.  "Or do you wish to hire someone from outside?"

            "Well," began Airelle, crossing her fingers behind her back for luck, "I understand, Headmaster, the danger of bringing a stranger into Hogwarts, especially during a turbulent time like this… with Lord Volde—I mean, You-Know-Who—"

            "It is all right, Airelle, call him by his name," Dumbledore interjected, and Airelle nodded.

            "Very well, then… with Voldemort resurfacing and gaining power… I beg your pardon for being blunt, sir, but I believe the faculty and staff of the school is working full-time, and I do not wish to take away from their careers with my own problems."

            "What do you propose we do?"

            Airelle thought about it.  "Perhaps… perhaps I can contact some of my old friends, and see if they could help me.  They are all able Aurors, and—"

            "Airelle," said Dumbledore, leaning forward slightly, "you know that we need those able Aurors at the Ministry."

            She sighed.  He was right; with Fudge still denying the fact of Voldemort's return, the Ministry of Magic needed at least some people who'd be aware and ready.  Airelle had informed everyone she could of the danger, and to take them away from the battlefield was not only selfish, but also perilous to the wizarding community as a whole.

            "Yes, sir," she replied slowly, looking down into her mug and watching the sugar swirl in it.  "I know.  Forgive me."

            "There is no need to apologize," Dumbledore smiled.  "I am aware that you have been uneasy as of late, and understand your worries perfectly.  Delilah Haze shall be safe, I assure you.  Focus on your classes… but if you need help, I shall provide you with this advice – try and enlist the help of your brightest students, such as the prefects… I would suggest—"

            "Hermione Granger," finished Airelle, setting the mug on the table.

            "Excellent," the elder wizard beamed.  "You have it.  I am sorry for putting you through this without a professional assistant, Airelle… but you must understand the gravity of the situation… we cannot afford any more casualties."

            "So I'm not the only one worried?"

            "Of course not," he laughed.  "I've been badgering the Ministry every day since the Yule Ball, forcing them to listen to the truth.  I think Cornelius Fudge may have my head one of these days."

            Airelle chuckled.  "Somehow I doubt that, Headmaster."

            Dumbledore looked like he wanted her to say something else.  "But…"

            "But," she added, stretching out her words, "I…shall keep… my eyes open, nevertheless."

            "Good, very good."

            "I just can't believe," she mused, pursing her lips, "that the Ministry could still remain this thick—I mean, ahem, reticent…about Voldemort…"

            "Which is why I plan to make a short visit to London during the upcoming holidays," said Dumbledore, drinking some more tea.  "I shall try and persuade them to heighten their defenses and be prepared for an attack.  I'm afraid my network of compatriots, though extensive, shall not be enough to stop the Dark Lord by far."

            Airelle's eyes narrowed.  "Headmaster… if you leave, what if—"

            "Do not worry," he interrupted, raising a hand.  "I shall take precautions so that nothing goes amiss at the school in my absence."

            "Then, sir, I trust your good judgment," she answered wisely, choosing to shut up.  If Dumbledore said he would do something, he'd do it well.

            "Thank you, Airelle," the Headmaster smiled, straightening his dark blue robes.  "You may go… unless, that is, you want to talk about anything else."

            That tone of voice stopped the professor dead in her tracks, and she sat back down in the chair.  "Such as…what, sir?"  Airelle was beginning to think coming to the office was not the brightest idea she'd had all day.

            "You tell me," he replied, eyes twinkling like Christmas lights at her.  Airelle suddenly wanted nothing more than to tell him about the notebook.  But then again, she'd have to explain who opened the cabinet in the first place…

            Instead, she said, "Sirius Black, sir."

            "Indeed?" He sounded amused.  "Go on."

            "Sir, I know you'll find this an odd question, but…is it true that you trust Black?"

            "I will not deny it, Airelle," said Dumbledore, smiling at her for some reason.  "He is a valuable asset to our cause."

            "But why?" she blurted out, and then blushed.  "Oh… beg pardon, Headmaster, if you don't wish to reply…" 

            "Nonsense," Dumbledore cut in.  "I am not angry with you for asking this… anyone in your position would be curious.  I'll tell you this: I trust him for a reason that you shall discover in time.  Not now, not like this.  You will have more questions than answers.  But if you still have faith in me as a capable Headmaster—"

            There was a pause, during which Airelle asserted, "Hogwarts shall never see one more talented than you, sir."

            "You overwhelm me; I do not deserve such a eulogy.  However, since you do believe in me, I shall tell you that you'll just have to trust me, at least until we discover the identity of the attacker."

            _Interesting, _she thought.  _So he really doesn't believe Black did it.  But of course, he trusts Black.  Now I'll have to trust him, and Snape… I've been doing a lot of blind trusting lately, maybe too much for my own good._

            "Yes, sir," Airelle answered.  "I will keep that in mind, and take you up on that promise."

            "Fantastic," he said.  "Care for some crumpets?"

            "Thank you…"

            "Oh," he said abruptly, looking up, "it is my job to see that everyone in this school is doing well.  So, I urge you to be careful yourself, and not to wander out of school grounds at this time.  It is too dangerous, even for an experienced Auror."

            Airelle was silent.  What could she possibly leave Hogwarts for?  That is, unless Snape had a trip on his mind or something…

            She almost did not hear the wizard as he added, "And inform Severus of that as well.  He is intelligent, but even geniuses make errors on occasion."

            Airelle looked up after a while.  "P…Professor Snape?" she asked, flabbergasted.  "Why would he—I mean, how would I know of what he's doing?"

            "Well, unless I am horribly mistaken, you two are… how would a child today put it—an item?"

            Airelle nearly choked dead on her tea, while Dumbledore smiled still more.  "But…surely," she hacked out in a cough, "you don't…believe Lockhart's—"

            "Newspaper article?" The Headmaster laughed and stroked his long white beard.  "Poor Gilderoy had a forest, but missed it because he was looking for it among the trees."

            "Eh?"

            "What I mean is, he had the right idea, but explained it with lies and twisted truths.  In fact, nothing in that article is really honest… except the title."

            Airelle stared at him, speechless and ready to kill something.  Namely, herself.

            "Oh, don't look so alarmed, Airelle," Dumbledore chortled, taking another sip of the tea.  "I knew of your affair soon after it began.  Strangely enough, no one else has noticed but me.  Perhaps it is because I am the only one who remembers your relationship when you were students.  Sometime after this Christmas, your demeanor changed, very subtly.  You two are still the best of friends, am I correct?"

            Airelle, seeing it was no use, and still not sure if her voice was working, nodded numbly.

            "Excellent.  But now, there is something more between you.  And I understand perfectly why you have tried to hide it."

            She finally found her vocal cords.  "You mean, sir… you shall not tell?"

            "Of course not," he laughed.  "I'm not Gilderoy, thank heavens.  Besides… maybe there'll come a time when you won't feel a need to conceal this matter.  But for now, it is best that only you and I know of it.  Doubtlessly, you have considered the fact that Severus is a Death Eater in practice?"

            "Yes, sir.  I am aware of the danger this may pose."

            "That is very brave of you, Airelle," he said quietly.  "I know you care for Severus more than even he or you yourself know… so I wish you all the best.  Only mind yourselves, and do not take unnecessary risks, especially now."

            "You won't…reprimand, or fire us?"

            "And lose two of my best chances to defeat Voldemort?  Hardly a bright thing to do."  He graced her with a warm, grandfatherly smile.

            "Yes…sir, I agree," she replied shakily.  "So… this is really all confidential?"

            "Count on me, Airelle, it is, and so it shall remain until you decide to publicize it."

            _Which will probably be never, _Airelle said to herself.  _Still… how did he…?  Why does that man always know everything?_

            Well, that wasn't all true.  Even though she was feeling somewhat better about Dumbledore knowing about her and Snape (at least SOMEONE had guessed!), Airelle was still not sure he knew everything.  One thing he definitely had no idea about, other than the notebook --- if they were all going to get out of this predicament alive or not.

~*~

            "Dumbledore knows about us," she said that evening, scribbling corrections on Hermione Granger's Illusions report.  For once, the girl had made a mistake; it would do her some good in the future, Airelle fathomed.  Snape was pacing the Potions classroom prior to her statement.  Now, he stopped in his tracks and was having what appeared to be a goggling fit.

            "WHAT?"

            Airelle didn't even look up, for fear of meeting his eyes.

            "What?" he repeated, stepping up to the desk Airelle was sitting at, which happened to be his regular Potions one.  It was old, smeared with drying bits of potion from heaven knew how long ago, and basically looked like some feline had used it for a scratching post.

            She finally raised her gaze to him and propped her head up with her elbows on the wood.  "I paid him a visit yesterday, asking for an assistant in Illusions.  It was then that the truth came out."

            "I should have known," Snape muttered with a slight sneer.  "How could you keep anything from the great Dumbledore?"

            "Look, it wasn't my fault!" she protested.  "I tried to deny it, but he said he discovered it long ago, after Christmas."

            He sighed.  "Oh, quit being paranoid… I don't blame you.  It's just… I hoped no one but we would be cognizant of it."

            Airelle finished grading Hermione's report and placed it down on the desk.  "You cannot keep secrets forever, Snape," she said.  "My mother would often bring up the proverb – 'What two people know, a pig knows.'  Besides, Dumbledore shall not tell anyone."

            "Maybe not, but it'll certainly affect his view of us," was the reply.  "Doubtlessly, he told you to look out for yourself and for me, and see to it that I don't do anything rash in my search for the attacker?"

            "Well… it's only fair… I mean, he is worried, after all.  Especially with the fact that he is leaving for London these coming holidays, and wants everyone to be safe."

            Snape looked at her, then at the wall, in thought.  "Maybe… just maybe," he said slowly, a flicker of a smile going across his face, "this isn't such a bad thing."

            Airelle raised an eyebrow, remembering full well how worried he was when he stood in front of the organ that night.  "What crazy idea has come into your mind now?"

            "Nothing in particular," Snape answered, but there was no mistaking that smugness in his voice.  "Nothing at all.  So he's going to London, is he?"

            "Yes," she said hesitantly, rising from her chair.  "Dumbledore wants to pay a visit to the Ministry."

            "And they won't believe him, I'm sure," mumbled the Potions professor.  "He has no proof.  After all, Fudge will say, Longbottom is a snot-nosed kid, and Madame Pomfrey may have been hallucinating.  No one but Neville and Delilah know what happened… and Neville Longbottom is the only person who says that there was a mention of the Dark Mark.  Besides," he added with a chuckle, "even if they believe Longbottom's story, it still doesn't connect the Yule Ball to Voldemort.  It could just be any random act by a follower of his… like he said himself… a vigilante."

            "But if you believe Voldemort's lying," Airelle interpolated, "you could go to the Ministry with Dumbledore and—and tell them."

            Snape looked sideways at her, and grinned wryly.  "Honestly, you'd never think you were an Auror for twenty years, Airelle," he said.  "Do you really think Fudge will accept testimony from a former Death Eater?  First, it's too risky for me, they might throw me into Azkaban after all--"

            "And," sighed Airelle defeatedly, "it would ruin your spy campaign against Voldemort."

            "Very good.  The Dark Lord has undoubtedly infiltrated corners of the Ministry already.  Malfoy, for one, though no longer a governor, still holds power.  If any of those Death Eaters discover me talking to Fudge about this, Voldemort will kill me on sight."

            Throwing her head back, Airelle groaned.  "Then what do we do?" she asked.  "If the Ministry won't listen, who will?"

            "Dumbledore may stop his focus on the Valentine's Day attack until Delilah awakens, but I fear by then it'll be too late.  We cannot wait that long, Airelle," he said in an urgent whisper, gripping her shoulders.  "I have an idea."

            "Why do I have the feeling this spells trouble?" she asked with a feeble smile.

            "Perhaps you have a sixth sense."

            "Snape, that's not funny whatsoever."

            "I know," he replied.  "But I have a feeling this doesn't have to be dangerous.  Just trust me."

"Oh, grea—"

"In the meantime," he cut her off, parading her gently towards the hallway, "when are you asking Miss Granger to be your assistant for Illusions?  Because I can suggest some Slytherins who happen to be much better and more practical…"

            And Snape refused to say a word about his plan afterwards.  Airelle did not pry.  _Blast that stupid promise I made to him_…

To Be Continued…

A/N: I know, even shorter than the previous chapter.  However, I think the next one, though short, will be worth all the waiting, believe me. :)  (Speaking of Chapter 23, it might come a tad late, seeing that I have a week or so until school starts again, 4 ½ more summer books to read, and 3 Chapters of AP Chemistry to prepare…)  Evilness.   But who knows?  Maybe I'll post ASAP. :)


	23. Delilah's Secret

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 23 Delilah's Secret

"THIS is your brilliant idea?" Airelle Vilka exclaimed exasperatedly as the carriage sped through the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley. Her companion and she were both wrapped in hooded cloaks, despite the fact that it was high noon in April.

"Relax," replied Snape, closing the curtains to the window and leaving them both in semi-darkness. Bright rays of sunlight streamed through the cracks; doubtlessly their ride looked strange to the vacationing crowds outside – black stagecoach drawn by a pair of obsidian black horses, carrying two people in black cloaks and darkened faces. _I won't be surprised if we'll be stopped on grounds of suspicion,_ thought Airelle with a grin. That was, in fact, not likely to happen, but it was an amusing thought anyway. She had rarely seen carriages in Diagon Alley.

"So," she said, leaning against the wall and watching Snape carefully from opposite her, "explain this to me. Why are we in Diagon Alley and not at Hogwarts like Dumbledore said?"

Snape crossed his arms; his skin looked even more pallid in the surrounding dimness than usual. "You didn't have to come, you know."

"Right," she smirked. "And let you go by yourself. You promised you'd tell me this plan of yours, and I chose to come with you."

"Perhaps one of us should have stayed at the school, nevertheless."

"Not likely," replied Airelle. "There's safety in numbers. But I'm still worried about the fact that you're disobeying Dumbledore's orders."

"He never _ordered_ us to stay at Hogwarts, Airelle," said Snape, lifting the curtains and taking another surreptitious glance out the window. "From what I understand, he _suggested_ it. But with the current circumstances, we cannot lose any more time and wait for him to return from London. We must take this further than Dumbledore is willing to."

"Why do I make out that you suspect something even worse than what Dumbledore does?"

Snape nodded. "He says the situation is grave; I think it is more than that."

"And let me guess… this notion of yours is supported by the missing notebook?"

"Precisely."

"Do you know who—"

"No. But I believe the same person who is responsible for the Yule Ball and Valentine's Day attacks—the man Madame Pomfrey and Longbottom described as having a black cloak with a red hood—was the one who stole Voldemort's notebook. I am nearly 100 percent certain of it."

"I never thought it was an accident, either," murmured Airelle bitterly. "Although… how does it fit? How? What is so important? And how did our attacker know about it?…"

The Potions Master's lips thinned. "To discover that, we must take a few preliminary steps. I have thought this out, and I believe I have the solution."

"Well, thank you, Sher—ACK!" (the carriage hit a bad stone and jumped) "—lock Holmes! So, are you going to grace me with your brilliant strategy now, or let me dangle until you present the whole mystery gift-wrapped in a box?"

"Your sarcasm," grinned Snape, "is very subtle."

"Thanks, I worked hard to perfect it," she answered monotonously.

"All right, all right," he conceded, raising his hands in mock defense. "I think I should tell you now."

"No kidding."

"I have taken the liberty of contacting a young lady named Natalie Willows Umbëre, who works as a shopkeeper here in Diagon Alley," said Snape, taking out a piece of parchment and unfolding it. Airelle shifted to his side and peered over his shoulder. It contained the name and an address in a hasty scrawl.

"That doesn't tell me anything," she said crossly after a while. "Who is this Ms. Umbëre?"

"One of Delilah Haze's former friends from school," said Snape, looking triumphant. Airelle made a face at him.

"And what's so great about her?"

"Ms. Umbëre," he drawled the words, as if she were small and he had to chew them for her, "can provide us with information about Ms. Haze's past. Perhaps she may lead us to the attacker indirectly – say, for example, tell us something about Ms. Haze… maybe why she could be a target."

Airelle settled back down. "It's a long stretch, Snape."

"I know. But other than trying to get it out of Voldemort, do you have any better ideas?"

Airelle was silent.

"I didn't think so," said Snape.

"But," she asked after a while, "wouldn't it be a good thing to at least tell Dumbledore about this?"

"Why should we? We're only leaving Hogwarts for a day, and it's vacation time. Besides, if we find anything, he'll be the first to know. I don't want to promise him anything and then come empty-handed."

Somehow, Airelle did not think that was a very good excuse, but she stayed quiet. Perhaps Snape's ego had begun to kick in. He probably wanted all the credit for catching the attacker on his own. Anyway, there wasn't really a risk in all of this, and she doubted they'd get anything big from Natalie Willows Umbëre. After all, Snape had said she and Delilah were 'former' friends. And to Airelle, that meant they hadn't spoken since Graduation. Judging by Delilah's age – approximately 23 – that had to be at least six years of separation. One heck of a lot could happen during six years; Airelle's own experiences attested to that.

"Very well," she said as Snape placed the parchment back inside his cloak. "I hope this Natalie girl can at least tell us _something_ useful."

"So do I," he replied, and the coach bounced again. "So do I."

They descended from the carriage some time later. Airelle stared at the storefront while Snape paid the driver discreetly and bid him drive off. The wheels were still rumbling in the distance when they entered, the little bell at the top of the front door announcing their presence to anyone who cared.

"So this is Willows-Matrisse Spellbook Shop," said Airelle, her eyes roaming over the numerous shelves lining a corridor-like room. In the middle were also four rows of parallel cabinets filled with books on each side. At the very end of the room, facing them, was a counter. It looked fairly new, and no one was minding it, apparently.

"C'mon," she whispered to Snape, and pulled him between the two middle cabinets, the tops of which were lined with a row of candles apiece. There was some talking at the other end of the room, but they did not see anybody until they reached the counter.

"Ah," came a voice from an adjoining room, and a thin young woman made her way out. She faced them, looking directly into Snape's eyes, and smiled pleasantly. "Are you on a quest for texts, or for me?"

"You," said Snape curtly. "That is, if you are the owner—"

"I am Natalie Willows Umbëre," the witch curtseyed, straightening her crimson-lined hat. "I manage the shop jointly with my sister, Matrisse. I take it you are Professor Severus Snape?"

"Yes," said Snape, nodding his head as a return greeting. Airelle shook the bookkeeper's hand.

"I am his associate, Airelle Vilka," she said. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Umbëre."

"Likewise… and please, call me Natalie."

"Will do."

"So, Ms. Umbëre," said Snape, obviously deciding to continue addressing her formally for his part, "I shall get to the point. We are here to ask you a few questions about—"

"Delilah Haze," she said, and Snape nodded. "Well, here, I'll pull you up chairs, and we'll chat." With that statement, Natalie disappeared into the next room, finally emerging with two tall stools that she placed in front of the counter. Resuming her place behind it, she said, "Delilah and I were old pals, since we entered school in the United States. Later on, she transferred to Hogwarts…"

Airelle looked at Snape. "Does that mean you had her as a student?"

"Yes," he replied. "Ms. Umbëre, please continue."

"Well," she said, "let me think… we sort of lost touch afterwards… until I moved here and set up this bookstore. We owled each other occasionally, but it was never the same type of friendship we had before. Anyway… do you want to know anything specific?"

"Do you know what she did after Graduation?" asked Airelle without thinking.

"Delilah… she definitely traveled for a while, I do know that much. And after that, she got a degree in Muggle Studies… and then… I know that when we were young, she always wanted to take Defense Against the Dark Arts. So, the last thing I heard from friends was that she planned to return to Hogwarts as an assistant to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor there."

"Ms. Umbëre," said Snape seriously, "these friends you speak of – who are they?"

"Just… people I met here…"

"Can you think of any one of them who might have wanted to hurt her?"

Natalie looked shocked. "Oh, never. They didn't even really know her."

Airelle's eyes narrowed abruptly, and she elbowed Snape in the gut.

"What are you—" he began, but stopped. There was someone else in the back of the shop, talking and laughing.

"Maybe… we should take this talk somewhere more private?" Snape suggested.

"I don't think so," said Natalie. "They're just children, I fathom. They won't have any clue what we're speaking of."

Airelle wasn't too keen on the idea. "Still—perhaps—"

But she was stopped by a voice floating towards the counter. The very last voice she expected to hear.

"Natalie! Are you in here?"

And from behind a bookcase came three smiling faces… all of which, oddly enough, dropped to the floor upon beholding Snape's scowl.

"P—P—Professor!" Tracy Patts stammered, falling backwards onto her friend Alica, who in turn squashed a gasping Ron Weasley between herself and the bookshelf.

"What on earth are _you_ doing here?" Snape snarled, scaring even Natalie.

"Buying books in our favorite store," said Ron, brushing dust from his robes. "It isn't a crime, is it?"

Snape, knowing full well he didn't have a reason to take points from any of the three students, pointedly ignored Airelle's glare. "We are having an important conversation," he hissed in an irritated tone, "so if you _kindly_… remove yourselves…"

"Oh, no, there's no need for that," said Natalie kindly, patting Tracy on the head. "They're all exceptional."

"Just as well," said Snape, "I would really appreciate it if this was postponed until they are—finished," (and at this he stared at the three murderously). Alica seemed undaunted; she had taken many a scolding from Snape in her time at Hogwarts.

"We'll be really quick, Professor," she beamed, knowing it would aggravate him further. "We promise."

While the Potions Master fumed, Airelle turned to Ron and inquired, "So, Mr. Weasley, what are you doing with these two ladies?"

"Well," he replied, "Harry's… off someplace, and Hermione is working on a Defense Against the Dark Arts project with Professor Lupin. They wanted me to get some books for them, and Tracy and Alica here brought me along for the ride."

"Uh-huh," said Airelle. "I… see. So," (finding she had nothing else to say, she had turned back to Natalie even though she wasn't supposed to say anything yet), "tell us more about your friend. What were her—hobbies? Did she have a family?"

"Well," Natalie began with some uncertainty, for Snape was still not looking thrilled about Tracy, Alica, and Ron being nearby, looking at books, "she never talked much about her family. I think she was adopted… and l know she left them behind when she moved from America. She basically relied on her friendships to sustain her spirit. It was a big thing for her."

"What were her hobbies?"

"Well, she loved to read… liked animals a lot…do you want to see an album? I still have it."

"Sure, why not?" said Airelle, even though the students were now listening, and Snape was looking positively homicidal.

"Oh, excellent! Wait 'til you see these…" And she hurried off into the next room to fetch the journal, leaving the professors alone with Alica, Tracy, and Ron.

"Snape," said Airelle softly, so that only he could hear, "are you finding any of this helpful?"

"I could be asking better questions," he whispered back, "if only those three dolts took the hint and scrammed."

"Don't worry, they said they'll be quick—"

"Here we go," panted Natalie, coming back into the room and interrupting Airelle. She was laden with an enormous, leather-bound volume that was as thick as her arm. Slamming it down on the countertop and wiping her forehead, she looked up at Airelle and Snape.

"Childhood memories," said Natalie, and heaved the cover open. Airelle leaned forward to look.

Fifteen minutes had passed, and there was nothing in the moving photographs that was unusual in any way. Most of them depicted a young Delilah, her long black hair styled in different fashions, with her friends and adopted family. Airelle was becoming more and more convinced that they would find nothing. Snape, however, kept staring at each and every photo intently.

Airelle covered her yawn with a hand and glanced over her shoulder back at the rows of books. Ron Weasley was engaged in a quiet argument over a book with Tracy, while Alica held another thin book in her arms. With that one, the fourth-year Ravenclaw headed to the counter.

"Can we get this?" she asked, and Natalie nodded.

"Sure. Excuse me." And she hurried off to the end of the counter, leaving Airelle and Snape with the album. Out of her ear, Airelle could hear Natalie say, "That'll be two Galleons."

_Two Galleons for a book? Ouch, isn't that rather expensive? _The ex-Auror turned her head slightly to see Alica Tylon pay the money and stuff the book into an inner pocket of her robes. _I wish I were this obsessed with reading, _thought Airelle with a small smile. _I'd pay inordinate sums for books, too._

Snape turned the page. The next set of pictures showed Delilah in an American amusement park, wearing Muggle attire and waving madly. Her hair was tousled (no surprise, considering the gargantuan roller coasters behind her) and a big grin was on her face.

Another page turned. More photos of Delilah and her friends, but this time there were only two or three from the same batch. These had been taken at Hogsmeade.

"Recognize anybody?" asked Natalie, returning to her chair. Snape bent over the pictures and scrutinized each one meticulously. Then, he shook his head.

"No, nothing whatsoever."

"You know, it's funny," said Airelle jokingly, turning the page again and looking at a picture of Delilah's pals and their pets, "that Delilah's parrot isn't in any of the pictures. It must've been really un-photogenic."

Natalie looked up. "What parrot?"

"You know," said Airelle exasperatedly, "her pet one. The red and green one… I believe it flew off after the attack on her."

"Oh, yeah," Ron Weasley cut in, even though he wasn't supposed to be in the conversation at all, "Neville mentioned it after the Yule Ball. He said he played with it."

"I thought Delilah had it for as long as she could remember," Airelle added curiously.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Miss Vilka," laughed Natalie, "but I'd known Delilah for a long time, and she never had a parrot."

Ron shrugged and was about to say something else, and Airelle cringed. That boy was going to get it from Snape for interrupting—

But, apparently, Snape was far from paying attention to the Gryffindor at all. He was staring at the ceiling, and had turned a remarkable shade of green. Airelle drew backwards and looked intently at him.

"Professor Snape?" she asked cautiously. "What's wro—"

Snape lowered his head, finally, and said quietly, "Oh, good heaven."

He had never uttered the words 'good heaven' before, and Airelle had an urge to shake him.

"We have to return to Hogwarts," he said, sprinting up from the chair so hard he knocked it down. "Now."

Natalie, the three students, and Airelle all wore the same look of puzzlement. "What?"

"Don't you see?" he exclaimed, grabbing his best friend by the shoulders. "It all makes sense—and we… we're in danger, we must leave!"

Airelle, still looking confused, let Snape pull her up off the chair. Sadly, it was too late.

A person stepped out from behind a bookcase. The very last person she could have imagined or expected to be there. Airelle only had time to gasp, "You?" before the curse hit her.

"Awfully sorry, chaps," came Neville Longbottom's cool, crisp voice out of the dark. "But I'm afraid none of you are going anywhere."

And then, all senses melted into a soft, velvety blackness.

To Be Continued…


	24. Unveiled

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 24 Unveiled

"Ohh…" Airelle's first sound upon awakening was a groan. Her vision was still blurry, but she sat up nonetheless.

"That was one nasty Stunning Curse… OW!"

"Watch your hea—too late," came Snape's voice from somewhere behind her. Airelle blinked once, twice, regained her sight, and found herself staring at a dozen metal, vertical bars.

"Are you all right, Professor?" asked Tracy, patting Airelle's shoulder.

"Fine, peachy," she muttered, massaging the lump on her forehead and looking backwards. They were in a damp, windowless room, with barren stone walls that reminded Airelle, disturbingly, of Almathea's bath. It had a low ceiling and a few candles on the floor outside the bars, so she could see her companions' faces only in dim light. Aside from herself, Tracy, and Snape, Ron Weasley and Alica Tylon were also sitting in the cage, leaning against the wall. Snape looked worse than any of them—his face was so pale that Airelle could've sworn he was a corpse.

Instinctively, she reached inside her robes.

"Don't bother," said Snape, and his voice sounded strangely hollow. "They've taken the wands."

Stifling a curse, Airelle stood up. "Were all of you unconscious?"

Ron nodded and ran a hand through his fiery red hair, which was damp with sweat. "I think so, since we have no idea where we are."

She turned around and looked out through the bars again. The rest of the room was empty, and there was a door on the other side, directly across from them. A thin stream of light radiated from the crack between it and the floor.

"Damn," she said, and clenched her fists. "Damn it to smithereens."

"My main problem," said Snape suddenly, but it was almost as if he were talking to himself, "was figuring out how our friend out there got into the school. Now, I know."

"Well, it's a little too late for that, hmm?" snapped Airelle. "God, I wish we told Dumbledore… we would not be in this mess…"

Snape did not reply, and Airelle sighed, exhausted. It was not a good idea to speculate on what might have happened; now, they needed to take drastic action.

"What're we going to do?" asked Alica, staring up at Airelle and Snape. Tracy raised her head out of her lap as well.

"She's right, Professor. We have to get out of here."

Airelle saw Snape bite his lip; he did not look vicious anymore at all. This was bad, very bad, when his exterior attitude matched the interior.

"I do not see how," he said after a while. "The locks are sealed magically; we won't escape without our wands. That is—unless—"

"Unless someone opens the cage for you…which won't happen, of course," said a new voice, whose owner had just opened the door across from them. He was flanked by two faceless, silent Death Eaters.

"Leave us, and guard the door," ordered Neville Longbottom, lowering his crimson hood and surveying the five people behind the bars that separated them. Everyone but Snape had sprung to their feet and stepped close to the metal, scowling. The Death Eaters nodded and swept out, leaving Neville alone with the prisoners.

"My, my," he smirked, folding his arms across his black robes, "what a charming little congregation. Are we enjoying ourselves?"

"Open the lock, and I'll show you enjoyment, you cowardly bastard," snarled Tracy, stepping forward. Neville did not look amused.

"It would be best," he murmured casually, drawing his wand and twirling it around in his fingers, "for you professors to teach your student to keep her mouth shut. That is, if you want her to stay alive a little longer."

Tracy shrank back a little, but the glare did not disappear from her face. Airelle placed a hand on her shoulder that said silently, 'Wait until our odds are even.'

There was silence, during which Airelle perused Neville quietly. Finally, she said, "What did you do with him?"

"Oh, you mean your little klutz of a pupil?" he asked, and it was scary to see Neville's face contorted into such a grimace. "Once I had that fruitcake, it was painfully simple. In fact, you with your kind words and penchant for him made it all too easy for me to win." He chuckled. "It was even easier than subduing Miss Delilah Haze."

"Where is he?" inquired Snape through gritted teeth. If this weren't such a serious situation, Airelle would have smiled. Did Snape actually care for Longbottom, the boy who'd wreaked havoc in every Potions class he'd ever attended?

Neville laughed. "I can't believe you people, honestly. You fell for the oldest trick in the book—I transfigured him, much like the ill-fated Barty Crouch did with his late father. Only… I did something more ornamental that a mere bone… I actually _decorated_."

With that, he reached into his robes again. Airelle and the others watched as something long and silver spilled from his neck – a necklace, with a gleaming pendant on the end. It was the very same one she had seen hanging on his nightshirt the night after the Yule Ball. Oh, what a fool she'd been.

"You were a tad rash to assume this was a family heirloom, Ms. Vilka," he said, fingering the beast curling around the letters 'NL' and a crest. "And to think—I gave you the very thing you needed to expose me—I TOLD you what the necklace was—Neville Longbottom. See the initials?"

"Very amusing," growled Airelle, gripping the bars. "Now give him back."

He paused. "Hmm…yes, well… I suppose I don't need him anymore… After all, you'll die anyway, might as well put him in with you." Ripping off the necklace, he threw it into the cage, resulting in it landing near Airelle's feet with a clang.

"Enjoy." He raised his wand and uttered, "Finite Incantatem!"

The pendant began to glow a sickly yellow, and everyone stepped back. In front of their eyes, the silver beast depicted on it began changing. Its legs grew, the claws turned into fingers—and in a minute, there was a naked, pudgy figure shivering on the stone floor. Airelle stepped forward and wrapped the real Neville Longbottom's unconscious body into her traveling cloak. Then, she glared up at the person outside the bars.

"Had your fun here, did you?" she hissed, eyes narrowed.

He laughed. "Oh, indeed. But the real fun is just beginning."

"What do you want?" asked Snape, now rising off the floor, his eyes glittering dangerously.

"That shall, I'm afraid, not be explained to you, until Ms. Vilka and I return to Hogwarts. But then again, maybe you won't find out until it's too late for you to care."

Airelle wanted to ask if it had something to do with the notebooks, but kept silent. No need to give the guy new ideas.

"Oh, speaking of late…" said the impostor, looking at his watch, "I believe my Polyjuice Potion's wearing off…"

And sure enough, slowly, he began to change just as the necklace had. His face turned from Neville's chubby one to a thin one, his fingers lengthened, his form straightened; and soon, Airelle was looking at one of the most gorgeous men she had ever laid eyes on.

He was lean and pale, almost majestic-looking, with elongated, experienced fingers and an angular face. His eyes were a dark, swirled hazel, and his chocolate-brown hair spilled to his waist over the red hood and black robes. Overall, he looked like he'd just stepped out of one of Thelma Torridson's infamous Wizard Erotica novels. There was no denying it; he was beautiful, and worthy of the staring fit Airelle was experiencing. But if one looked closely, at his eyes… the beauty was lost. There was something consuming them from the inside out, like a larva ruining a fruit. Airelle could not compare this man to Snape, not in the least. Then again, perhaps it was because she loved Snape to bits, but that was beside the point.

"Noah Lieton," said Snape darkly. "I should've known."

The man bowed. "You recognize me after all these years, Severus. Pity you have to be a traitor to the Dark Lord… otherwise, you would've been on the other side of these bars."

Alica and Tracy stared at Snape, mouthing wordlessly. Airelle caught their eye and shook her head in a 'not now' gesture. The two Ravenclaws would learn many secrets tonight… although there was a doubt as to if they'd live to tell them. Ron Weasley, on the other hand, did not look shocked; Airelle guessed he had already found out from Harry Potter. How did Harry know about Snape's past? Right now was not the time to wonder.

"I wouldn't stand with you if you paid me," the Potions Master snarled, and Airelle decided to give him an innumerably large number of points in her book for that one.

Noah smirked. "Well, well, acting brave, are we? My Lord was right in his statements—you really HAVE turned into a goody-two-shoes."

"Better a goody-two-shoes than a murderer," said Airelle in a soft, deadly tone, and the hazel eyes turned on her.

"Hold your tongue, ex-Auror," replied Noah icily. "You are responsible for Severus's deflection to Dumbledore's side, aren't you? Did your dear friend's conscience get a hold of him years ago? Tsk, tsk… not good for a Death Eater."

"So it was Voldemort who sent you," said Snape, and Noah nodded with a smile.

"Absolutely. I'm not a vigilante, like he said to you at that fabricated Death Eater meeting. All of us were in on it, and knew you were lying. Did you actually think the great Dark Lord believed you after Barty Crouch's demise? He reaccepted you, knowing you were a turncoat, and used you as a pawn in his plans. Plans that, thanks to you all, shall take place with my help."

Neville was beginning to awaken. Airelle, realizing the Gryffindor boy was shaking, took Snape's cloak and covered him with it as well, to stop him from contracting hypothermia. Meanwhile, Alica and Tracy moved backwards, but still listened to the conversation between Snape and the Death Eater.

"Voldemort told you to kidnap us?" asked Snape.

"Certainly. I had really planned on only catching Ms. Vilka inside the school, but it was too risky. Besides, Severus, you knew too much anyway."

"You used Delilah in your game as well," said Airelle bitterly as Neville shivered in her arms. Noah Lieton sniggered.

"She was easy," he said acidly. "All I had to do was overhear in a bar that she was going to work at Hogwarts, and that was it. The girl was my ticket there. I cornered her in an alley and placed the Imperius Curse on her."

"And went with her to Hogwarts, as a pet parrot on her shoulder," said Snape. "You're an unregistered Animagus, Noah."

"Very good… awful shame you didn't discover it sooner. Shame for you, that is. Funny," he continued, "my Master's original plan was to kill you, Severus, inside Hogwarts, and take on your appearance."

"And when Voldemort would attack the school," growled Airelle, "you'd be there as an insider, a double agent whom not even Dumbledore suspected."

"That's right. And dear Snape here would die knowing I was impersonating him, and all his precious plans would crumble. That's my Lord's punishment for a traitor to our cause…humiliation, then death. Oh, certainly, in Neville's body, I could have killed Potter directly, but it would be too risky for me to get out of school afterwards… and besides," he added quietly, "I want that pleasure to be my Lord's alone. My job was to kill Dumbledore. Potter, and the whole of Hogwarts is nothing without their precious Headmaster."

Ron glared at Noah. Airelle wondered how he must have felt, sleeping in the same dormitory with a Death Eater for four months and not knowing.

"So," said Noah, "I had Delilah bring me to Hogwarts on the day of the Yule Ball. From there, I began… looking for a body. Delilah left that werewolf professor of yours," –("Werewolf?!" Tracy and Alica gasped)—"and we encountered your little friend in the corridors. I placed him under the Imperius Curse as well."

"And told them both to go to the Forbidden Forest," Snape cut in, gripping the bars so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Exactly, Poirot," Noah grinned, and leaned on the wall. "I transformed back into my regular self, stunned the boy unconscious, and planned to do a Memory Wipe on Ms. Haze."

"Killing her would be too dangerous, wouldn't it?" asked Airelle, understanding the whole thing now. "You wanted her to continue working at Hogwarts as if nothing had ever happened."

"That's correct, Ms. Vilka. I plucked some hair from Longbottom's head and put it into a ready Polyjuice Potion, which I drank. Once the transformation ended in success, I transfigured the boy into my necklace—needed to keep him close, you see, for the hair, and of course, to learn more of his habits—and then, planned to work on Ms. Haze."

"When she somehow recovered from the Imperius Curse you put on her, and struck back."

"Exactly. That little brat caused me so much nuisance…without her intervention, I could've gotten my job done sooner than usual… in any case, I was faster, and Stunned her before she could do anything. However, now people had heard her scream, and I was momentarily out of luck."

"So you panicked, and tried to wipe her memory, in addition to doing a medley of other hexes. And then, an idea came to you, and you decided to hurt yourself."

"That's right. I screamed in Neville's voice, bruised and cut myself, and waited for you to arrive. And arrive you did, Ms. Vilka, and I couldn't have been more delighted. When I put Neville under the Imperius Curse for the first time, he told me a great deal about you, you see. Seems he liked you a lot. Helped him to fly and everything, eh?"

Airelle's eyes narrowed to slits again.

"Hmm…what happened then? Ah, yes, I fed you that cock-and-bull story about the Dark Mark… then, you took me to the infirmary… it was quite interesting that no one suspected me there. Dumbledore must be losing his touch. Anyway, I was free… and then, I knew I had to kill Delilah; she knew too much. The problem lay in doing it without anyone seeing me. And then, you, Severus, were summoned by my Master on Christmas."

"He made all his Death Eaters play along to make me think he trusted me."

"That's right," said Noah. "He told you that silly 'vigilante' tale."

"And afterwards," said Airelle, remembering the weeks gone by, "you just bided your time."

"Excellent. Finally, one sweet day I got you out of the dungeons to talk to Potter outside, and headed towards the infirmary. I would have killed her, too, if it weren't for that stupid pet Kneazle of Pomfrey's…"

"And now, everyone knew you were still nearby."

"Yes, indeed," Noah laughed. "It was hysterically ironic, too—to think that Dumbledore wanted to keep an eye on me, thinking I would be attacked—when in reality, I was the attacker! It actually was the reason that I kept quiet until Easter vacation—those damned security trolls wouldn't give me the time of day."

Airelle sighed. "And when the holidays came, you decided to—"

"To strike," he finished. "I'd had enough of waiting, and you both were prying too much into my affairs. And looks like I was just in time, too. When I reached the bookstore, where I knew you were, I had no idea that you'd guessed my identity…"

A question came into Airelle's head. "What did you do with Natalie?"

"Ah, you mean that storekeeper. I didn't kill her, sadly. It would raise suspicion if someone came looking for you. So, I Memory-Wiped her and told her that she never got a visit from anyone named Snape, Vilka, or three certain students too curious for their own good."

"How wonderful for us," Tracy muttered from behind Airelle.

"You are merely casualties of the war, you understand," said Noah calmly. "You will all be dead soon enough—why not have four of Hogwarts' finest die earlier? Saves time."

"You little bastard, wait until I get my hands on you…" Airelle began, getting an urge to kick the bars, even though she knew it was futile and would only provoke him.

"Which may be sooner than you think," he grinned, "if I have my way."

It took both Airelle and Snape a second to get the full purport of those words, and both of them put on identical looks of loathing.

"But now," said Noah, "enough of trifling word games. I believe we should get to business. I bet you'd all like to get a glimpse of your eventual fate?"

Snape was the only one who did not back away from the bars toward the farthest wall. "What the hell's he talking about?" Airelle asked, staring at her friend with bulging eyes.

The Potions Professor did not reply.

"Snape?"

"Voldemort," he finally said. Airelle stopped clutching Neville's limp hand (for she had dragged his body with her to the back of the cell) and became deadly calm. Now this was curtains, to be sure. If the Dark Lord showed up, nothing could be done without wands. Nothing. And even with wands, their survival was dubious.

Noah, meanwhile, seemed to be paying no attention to the six whatsoever, but replaced his hood. Then, he knocked on the door, and there was a shuffle on the outside. Shortly afterwards, a Death Eater entered carrying a metal jar with a gilded handle.

"You have it?" asked Noah, and his voice sounded hoarse under the hood.

"Is it wise to do it in front of them?" asked the other. This was a woman's voice, definitely. Airelle had no idea Voldemort allowed women to don Death Eater hoods. She supposed he learned from his enemies at the Ministry—women could kick, to excuse the expression, serious ass.

"I want to show them," replied Noah with a bow, taking the jar. "Their fates are sealed; it does not matter anymore."

The female Death Eater nodded silently, and walked out without a single backward glance. As she closed the door, Airelle caught a glimpse of the outside—polished, gray marble floors. Where on earth were they?

Saying not a word, Noah carried the jar gingerly to the middle of his side of the room and, ignoring the captives completely, poured a handful of powder from it into his hand. It sifted like sand through his fist on the floor, sparkling and black as coal. Airelle and the others watched with uncertainty as the Death Eater drew a small rapier from the innards of his robes and nicked his finger with it. Airelle stood transfixed as Noah squeezed the blood out drop by drop, letting it mix with the powder. A wisp of gray-green smoke was sent up from the floor every time the blood touched it, and an acrid smell began to waft through the room.

"By blood of thy servant, thy faithful servant, O great master, I beseech thee," came a whisper, but it was not Noah's. Airelle turned her head sideways, to a most horrific sight—Snape's face was pressed up against the bars, his dark eyes staring hungrily at the dripping blood as if he were a vampire. He'd been right; the Dark Mark was strong, even for those who had renounced it. Not knowing what to do, she grabbed his sleeve and muttered, "Compose yourself…I beg you…"

Nonchalantly, Noah Lieton uttered a chant of words Airelle did not recognize in any spellbook, and the wet powder on the floor began to send up bubbles of smoke. At this point, the ex-Auror could not take it any longer. She wanted to run and hide—but couldn't. The students behind them knew nothing of evil—had never come into contact with it. Both Snape and Airelle had, before, and thus neither could run. Her feet were glued to the floor in the face of one of her nightmares materializing to flesh.

It happened quickly after that. The smoke melted into a hovering shape, first a shapeless lump, but then a face; a terrifying, red-eyed face from the brooding recesses of her worst fears. It reeked of death… and not the kind of death that brought peace. It was death brought on by pain and despair. And still, Airelle could not, for her life, have moved away from those bars.

"I have been summoned," it hissed softly, "for a good reason, I hope."

Noah was on his knees, waiting.

"Speak. Have you accomplished what I have sent you to do?"

"Yes, my Lord. I have not failed you. The Auror, the traitor, and some others are in my possession and power."

Voldemort's expression did not change. "Excellent. And the old man?"

"Away in London at the Ministry, my Lord."

There was a pause, as if Voldemort were catching a breath that had inadvertently escaped. "Proceed with your plan…"

Noah bowed. "As you wish, my Lord. But… may I ask something?"

"Quickly. The time grows short."

"What shall we do with the others?"

The red eyes swiveled and focused right on Airelle, who cringed and finally stepped backwards. Then, they went past her and to Alica, Tracy, Ron, and Neville. Thank heaven Neville was still unconscious, or he surely would have gone stark raving mad.

"Kill them if you wish," said Voldemort. "You have done well, and I leave it to your discretion."

Noah bowed his head low. "I thank you humbly, my Lord. I shall not disappoint you."

"See that you don't." His voice was fading, and resulted in no more than a whisper. "Because if you do, your present success shall play no role in your fate."

"Yes, my Lord."

The powder on the floor glowed black one last time, and dissolved into ashes. Noah rose and smiled broadly.

"Looks like you're in my hands," he said. "I won't kill any of you just yet… I want to see your faces when you hear the news of Hogwarts." His grin was sadistic as he came close to the bars. "I want to watch you as you die, knowing that everything has crumbled around you. As for _you_, Severus," he added, turning to Snape, who was not all there, "I shall leave you to my Master, as he instructed me."

Airelle, who had recovered from her shock at seeing Voldemort, felt rage seep through her blood, and would've torn Noah's head off had he been standing a little closer to her. "If I die, I'm taking you with me," she growled.

Noah's hazel eyes twinkled, in a way completely contrary to Dumbledore's, as he stared at her in amusement. "We'll see, Ms. Vilka," he replied, walking to the door, "we'll see. But I need you now…so say your goodbyes, because soon you shall be going on a little trip with me."

"Go to hell."

"No, actually, we're going to Hogwarts. Together, my dear, yes… to reclaim what rightfully belongs to my Master, the Dark Lord."

And Noah Lieton walked out, leaving Airelle to, even in the midst of her dread and anger, ponder a very peculiar question—_What does Voldemort want at Hogwarts?_

To Be Continued…

A/N: Chapter 25 coming ASAP. This chapter "Unveiled" is dedicated to singer/actress Aaliyah, who died in a plane crash on Saturday, August 25th, 2001. I was never a great fan of hers but it is sad to see a life lost. Requiescat In Pace.


	25. Mortis

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 25 Mortis

Fifteen minutes had passed in silence since Noah Lieton's departure, and there was no sound at all from the six people in the darkened cell, save for the occasional whimper from Neville. He still had not awakened, and seemed to be having a bout of nightmares that no one could help him with. Airelle slumped against the barren stone wall and buried herself into her own little world. _At least thank God for Neville's not being conscious,_ she told herself over and over again. After what happened to his parents, and now to him, Airelle doubted the boy's sanity would be able to take on Voldemort.

How could she have been so dim-witted? How? From the start, she should have suspected him. Snape had, at least a little; this was why he'd been so harsh on Longbottom all year. He did not believe, like Airelle did, that Neville could've suddenly gained that much courage—playing Quidditch when months earlier, he could barely ride a broom. And Airelle thought it was due to her lessons. Snape had cornered Neville on Christmas Day, after the game--he was suspicious even then. She sighed and shut her eyes tight. _Some teacher I'm pretending to be…_

That last thought made her open her eyes again, and look up slowly to the wall opposite her, where Severus Snape stood still as a statue, completely immobile, his eyes like black glass. _Supposing I come over there and smack him in front of all these students, _mused Airelle, _then yell at him to snap out of his daze, then hug and kiss him until we're pried from each other by our cold, dead fingers._

Instead, she rose quietly (there was no need; no one seemed to be interested in looking anywhere but the floor) and crossed the room, stopping in front of her best friend and placing a hand on his sleeve.

"I know this is probably not the best time," she murmured, "but… forgive me, for not listening to you. I should have paid more heed, and let you have your way… it is my fault we are incarcerated here." Finding no more words in her vocabulary, Airelle looked at her hand, and withdrew it from Snape. She doubted if he even heard her.

But, apparently, he did.

"You are not to blame," he said, and his voice sounded hoarse, as if he'd been screaming for the past hour. "I should have known sooner."

"But if I hadn't bothered you about Neville's past and how you were biased against him," she protested, not caring that she was speaking in the presence of Gryffindor students, "maybe you could have followed your instincts and—"

"You were right in your words back then. Longbottom's past is not to be trifled with. It is a proven fact."

"One that helped cloud my judgment."

"Both of our judgments, Airelle," he replied softly. "Both."

The ex-Auror bit her lip so hard it bled a little. After what seemed like an eternity, she asked, "What are we to do?"

Snape was silent, and Airelle, finding she could not get a satisfactory reply, dragged her feet back to her side of the cell and sat down, deep in thought. _There's got to be a way. There's always something… and I bet it lays in whatever Noah and I are going back to Hogwarts for. But why—_

A voice interrupted her thoughts out of the dark.

"Professor Vilka?"

"Yes, Miss Tylon?" Airelle sighed wearily. Was she really getting too old for this, or did the cell somehow drain her of energy?

Alica and Tracy had stood up, and came over to sit by her. With uncertainty, and in tones very unlike their usual energetic ones, they said simultaneously, "We have something to tell you."

Airelle's face stretched into a weak smile. "One at a time, please. My brain can't process two voices at once, I think."

Tracy Patts began, "A few months ago… we… took something we weren't supposed to. I don't know," she added quickly, seeing the look on Airelle's face and misinterpreting it for surprise, "if this has anything to do with our…situation, but I think we should tell you anyway."

"If this is about that little notebook that you lost on the night of the Yule Ball," she said, "you're forgiven."

Alica's jaw dropped. "You…you KNOW?"

"Of course we know," said Snape from the shadows. "We were there."

"But… but…" Tracy stammered, unable to find breath enough to speak coherently. "…You couldn't have…"

"And why not? We are professors, after all," mumbled Airelle.

Tracy was about to say something else, but was cut off by a new voice. Ron.

"Professor," he said carefully, "do you really think this… notebook… was stolen by Noah?"

"I'd believe it," replied Airelle, frowning. "They were Voldemort's old schoolbooks, after all."

Alica looked like she wanted to die. "VOLDEMORT?! You mean," and she pointed outside the cell, where the image had long since disappeared, "_that_ Voldemort?"

Airelle nodded. "Yes…there's only one of him, thank heavens."

"Oh, dear," Tracy moaned. "We've really done it now."

"Then it's clear," said Ron, and sounded too sure of himself for a fifth-year. "He must be after those notebooks."

"But why?" asked Snape, and the question was more to himself than anyone around. "What did he hide in them?…"

"If it were a curse of some sorts," mused Airelle, "we would have encountered it when we blasted the cabinet open."

"Maybe it needs an invocation."

"Hmm," said Tracy.

"Yes, but then why didn't Dumbledore just destroy the books?"

"Dumbledore hid them there?"

"Yes," said Airelle. "At least we believe so."

"Oh, really…"

"And why does Noah want you to go get the books for him, Professor?"

"D'you think it's really a curse in there?"

"What sort of curse, I wonder?"

"Hmm…"

"And what could—"

"SILENCE!" Snape roared, and everyone jumped. No one had, apparently, expected him to get out of his self-contained trance so soon.

"Much better," he said, taking charge of the conversation and sweeping closer. "Now, it is clear to me that in order to take action, we must discover what we are up against."

"No shi—mph!" Alica had wisely clamped a hand over Tracy's mouth.

"If I must remind you, Miss Patts," Snape sneered brutally, "I am still your Professor, and you should treat me and Aire--Ms. Vilka… accordingly."

"Yeah," muttered Ron quietly, with an undeniable bitterness, "you, for one, really deserve it… Death Eater."

Snape looked outraged. "Two hundred points from Gryf—"

"QUIEEET!!" This time, it was Airelle who stormed up and glared at both Ron and Snape. "You are acting like toddlers, the both of you! For shame! We are in mortal danger, this is no time for silly arguments or points that will be worthless if we all DIE in here!!" Her face had turned a brilliant shade of violet with rage, and Snape stared at her like she'd toppled straight off her rocker. So, interestingly enough, did Ron Weasley. The good part was, it shut both of them up.

Airelle heaved out a big sigh to steady her nerves, and sat back down (Tracy and Alica's mouths were still gaping open in shock). "Now," she continued, in a voice of deadly calm, "Professor Snape, I believe you were speaking of those books?"

Still staring at her in awe, Snape made an effort to sit down on the floor, but instead wound up nearly sitting on Neville. Airelle had to work her facial muscles furiously to keep from laughing. It was truly remarkable—the fact that she was in a cell without her wand, awaiting her impending doom, and still managed to find things funny.

Tracy took another look at the thin, ghostly bars, and said quickly, "Right, Professor. Tell us what you know."

"The first thing is fairly obvious," Snape replied after a while. "We must speak with the person who may remember the truth." One of his long, thin fingers drew up and pointed to the unconscious fifth-year Gryffindor.

"By Merlin's wand, you may be right," said Airelle. "I hope he can tell us something…"

"But Professor," said Ron, looking at Neville's form with some apprehension, "d'you think it's a good idea waking him? He's been through—"

"That'll be nothing compared to what he'll go through," replied Airelle, kneeling by Neville's side as the rest cleared room for her, "if he falls into the hands of anyone out there, on the other side of those bars."

Ron looked embarrassed; his face was as red as his hair. Airelle smiled.

"Don't worry, I won't frighten him too much," she said reassuringly. Snape did not look convinced, but was silent. Strangely enough, Airelle had forgotten about having to be comforting to Snape—even though she was certain he was in a great deal of pain. The Dark Mark was on the surface of his left arm again, sizzling into his skin anew, as if it had just been planted there. He didn't show any signs, but Airelle knew her best friend was suffering. And the odd thing was—she was more worried about Neville than Snape. And she loved Snape to death. Right? She had forgiven him, after all…for giving her a nearly fatal blow on Graduation Night years ago…

_ "You selfish bastard. You want the easy way out, and you drag me into it by playing on the friendship I have with you?"_

_ "Airelle--"_

_ "No." Her voice had broken, and she had to lower it down to a whisper. But she still continued to look into his eyes, those beautiful black eyes, a reflection of hers that she did not recognize anymore. "No, damn it, I'll keep speaking. I won't let you see me cry. Never. As your friend, I love you, more than you'll ever know, you bastard, and I hate you and myself for it."_

_ "Airelle—"_

_ "Yes! That's my name! Airelle Vilka, of Ravenclaw house, who doesn't understand a blasted thing about her friends! Is that it? I'll never join. Never. Do you hear me…" Her voice was the faintest whisper by now. "Never." And she just kept repeating the word._

_His eyes darted in hers. "You really mean what you say."_

_She bit her lip. "Yes. I do."_

Right. She loved him enough to trust him. He'd take care of his wounds while she mended another's.

A voice dragged Airelle out of her reverie. She didn't realize she had been shaking Neville continuously, methodically, without stopping. And it was his voice, talking.

"Pr…Profess'r…"

"Shh," she murmured, cradling his head in her lap while the others watched in silence. "I'm here. Regain your breath, and don't get up."

Of course, he did not listen. Blast that Gryffindor rashness.

"But—" Neville bolted upright, "that lady—Delilah, she's in trouble—" His face fell when he finally observed the surroundings.

"Please, tell me this is another nightmare," he said upon seeing Snape. "Please."

"Unfortunately, no," Airelle replied. "Something worse."

"Does that man who hurt Delilah have us hostage?" Neville's eyes looked at Ron pleadingly, and he nodded.

"Oh…" Longbottom was beginning to look frantic, and Airelle did not wish to attract attention from the outside of the room if he began yelling wildly for help. She needed to ask him, now.

"Neville, we're counting on you for something of crucial importance," she urged, and his eyes widened. "Try and remember anything you witnessed, anything at all."

The boy bit his lip and looked at Snape again, who greeted him with the same unpleasantness he always did. Airelle frowned, but had no time for small talk.

"C'mon, Neville," added Tracy, sidling closer to him. "Think… when did you first encounter Noah Lieton – that man – and Delilah?"

"Oh, I… remember almost everything," he said hesitantly, and Airelle's eyes shone with anticipation. "It all happened at the Yule Ball… I guess I never should have picked up that silly book from the library…"

Alica stared at him. "YOU took it?"

"Well," he answered, shrugging, "I was up there wandering the night of the Ball… I did not have a date. So, um…I passed by the library and started looking around, since I never go much in there…"

Snape looked like he wanted to say something along the lines of 'That's for sure,' but a murderous look from Airelle kept him, thankfully, from it. Neville paused before he continued, seeming to realize for the first time that he was nude under the two cloaks Airelle had given him, and conscientiously wrapping them tight like a toga.

"And then, I saw it… this tiny thin notebook. It was lying there without an owner. I thought someone had forgotten it, and since Ravenclaws had study hall in the library that day, I thought of returning it… I went with it into the corridor and flipped some pages open. Most of it was written in a language I'd never seen before… and just when I began thinking of putting it back and not bothering—the strangest thing happened… a parrot flew up to me right then and there, and sat on my shoulder."

"Noah," said Ron.

"Yes, him. And I was interested, I mean… no animal had ever been so friendly, and I'd never seen a parrot before. This one could even talk, and do tricks. And so… I started talking to it… since there was no one to talk to, and I felt…"

"Go on," said Airelle soothingly.

"I felt…lonely. Everyone else was at the ball, and I always talk to Trevor…" Snape was the only one who gave him a strange look, but Airelle understood. She talked to Avalon all the time—told the little owl about her worries, her fears… it was no wonder a boy picked on and bullied was a prime target for someone like Noah Lieton. It was like a moth attracted to a flame. Good Lord.

"Hmm," said Alica. "And what'd you tell him?"

"Just sat on the floor next to the library and blabbed on about everything--my classes, broom practicing with Professor Vilka…" A pink blush crept onto his plump cheeks, and Airelle did her best to retain her blank expression. Snape did not say a word.

"…and then, I opened the notebook again, and playfully asked the parrot if he could understand any of it, since I couldn't."

"Well, what do you know?" said Airelle. "Looks as if he knew more than you thought."

"Mm-hmm… I opened it to the first page—the last was missing… but the first one bore a name…what was it?—"

"T.M. Riddle, 1942?" asked Airelle quietly.

"That's it!" he exclaimed. "Who is he, anyway?"

"Voldemort," Snape replied bluntly, and Neville winced.

"That… must explain why the parrot suddenly started being jittery. Eventually, it flew off, and I thought nothing of it… until half an hour later, a lady came up to me—Delilah. She had a lost look about her."

"The Imperius Curse," said Snape as everyone else cringed visibly.

"So, let me recreate this scenario," said Airelle, licking her dry lips. "Noah comes to Hogwarts, with the intended plan of killing Snape and taking his place. While Delilah is talking with Lupin—I saw her that night at the ball—Noah flies around looking for a host body to use for his Polyjuice Potion. He sees Neville, and chooses him. You, Neville, happen to have in your possession one of Voldemort's mysterious notebooks, which Noah recognizes. It sends him up in a flutter, and he goes off to get Delilah, who is under the Imperius Curse and is instructed to follow him. Once away from the bustle in the Great Hall, Noah changes into his true form, takes his wand from Delilah, and leads her to the corridor next to the library."

"That should have been the first clue," said Snape softly. "Noah, when he was using Polyjuice Potion, told us that he met Delilah while she was looking for the bathroom."

"And Delilah was a transfer student at Hogwarts only a few years previously!" said Ron. "How could she not remember where the bathroom is?"

"All right, Neville," Airelle prompted for him to continue, "and then what did Noah do?"

Neville shut his eyes tight, as if he were trying to remember. "Then… I felt very light. He put me under the Imperius Curse and took the notebook from me. He then led us inside an empty classroom and contacted You-Know-Who, I guess."

"That must mean Noah's plan changed abruptly!" said Tracy gleefully, wringing her hands in her lap. "He was no longer focused on killing Sna—err, Professor Snape, but on something else…"

Neville shrugged. "Anyway, I didn't see or hear You-Know-Who…it looked like Noah was talking to himself. Delilah and I stood there, paralyzed by his command. After he finished talking, he ordered us to go to the Forbidden Forest. Everyone who saw our shadows in the distance thought we were a couple… no one suspected anything…"

"And where was Noah?"

"Back as a parrot, on her shoulder. He could still give us commands, since parrots can talk."

"Whew," Ron heaved out a sigh of horror. "I'll never look at 'Polly-Want-A-Cracker' the same way again."

"No kidding," said Alica Tylon with a grin.

"And in the forest," Airelle continued, "Noah stunned you."

"Yes…and I remember nothing more."

Quickly, Airelle filled him in on what Noah had done afterwards, and as a result causing the boy's look to grow progressively worse.

"So," she finished, "we were hoping to find out what exactly Voldemort talked to Noah about."

"WAIT!" shouted Alica suddenly. "WAIT JUST A BLOOMIN' MINUTE!! I forgot—we still have—this!"

Everyone looked on curiously (except Tracy, who looked ecstatic) as the Ravenclaw student pulled another thin, emerald green book from the inside of her robes. It was the book she had bought at Natalie Willows Umbëre's shop just a few hours earlier.

"Thank Merlin they didn't take this from me," she muttered, throwing the book on the floor and opening it. "Maybe it'll help us in figuring out what was inside…"

For the first time, Airelle saw the title. It read, in faded gold lettering: _Deciphering Ancient Symbols: A Beginner's Manual._

"How will that help?" asked Ron, making a face. "We don't have the notebook to compare."

"We may not have the _whole_ book," said Tracy triumphantly, reaching into her sleeve, "but…"

And at that, she drew out a piece of parchment, folded many times over.

"Care to guess what this—"

"The missing last page from the book you had taken," said Snape, seizing it from her and unfolding it before she finished speaking. "You tore it out to try and decipher the writing, and then wound up forgetting the matter and leaving the book carelessly in the library. And later, being worried, you decided to buy something in Ms. Umbëre's store that could help you."

Tracy looked miffed, but stayed silent as they all bent over the worn paper.

"All right, Airelle," said Snape, "flip to the middle of the book and see if you can find some of these symbols—the one that looks like an L with a curvy flourish on top… it appears frequently. Some of these are runes drawn on paper--this is…remarkable."

Hastily, as if the door would open any second (which it could, technically), Airelle flipped through the pages.

"L with curvy flourish… curvy…flourish…" she was speaking to herself, reading faster, so fast her eyes began to sting. "Curvy—Aha! Here it is!"

"You found it?" asked Alica excitedly, as if they were exploring the meaning of a treasure map. Well, here, the treasure could mean their lives…

"Yes…just let me find the right flourish—"

But Ron Weasley saw it before Airelle scrolled down the list.

"It means Mors," he said aloud, and Neville looked up, frightened. "Any of you know Latin? Because this squiggle on it means something called Nigra."

"Mors Nigra?" Airelle repeated as Snape turned pallid. "Mors Nigra…Latin… Latin for…" She paused. "The Black Death."

"Black Death?!" Alica and Tracy chorused, and everything was silent for a full ten seconds.

"Then, the prophecy is true," said Snape finally, in such a horrid tone that it nearly pierced Airelle's ears.

"What prophecy?" she asked, cocking her head sideways. "What's true?"

"Oh, ye gods," groaned Tracy, "this is just what the world needs… more prophecies…"

"What's true, Sn—Professor Snape?" asked Airelle again.

"Voldemort wants to get a hold of the Medicamentum Mortis."

"Medica-what?"

"Medicamentum Mortis," he reiterated impatiently. "Mors Nigra, the Black Death, the Potion of Death—they're all the same thing… monikers for the infamous Mortis Potion."

This proclamation, apparently, did not elicit the reaction he'd expected; everyone stared at him blankly. This time, even Airelle had no clue what he was speaking of. But whatever it was—anything with the word Death in it and Voldemort would not make a good combination.

The Potions Master sighed exasperatedly, rose, and began to pace the cell wall to wall as his companions' eyes followed him eagerly. Everything seemed to be forgotten—student-teacher barriers, the fact that Snape was a former Death Eater—it was just like in Hagrid's cabin, except it was life-threatening. Big difference, there.

"The legendary Mortis Potion," said Snape, automatically adopting the professor-voice, "is one of the worst feats of Dark Magic ever performed. Muggles nicknamed it the Black Death… it was the reason for the plague that wiped out a third of Europe in the Middle Ages—they blamed it on rats."

"What does it do?" asked Ron.

"The Potion, once made, has a power which becomes airborne. Any Muggle or Muggle-born who breathes it shall become contaminated and die. It is a tool for wiping out anyone not of pure wizard blood."

"My God," said Airelle. "That's what Voldemort wants."

"Rumor has it," said Snape, "that the only existing recipe for it was kept by…" There was an uncomfortable pause. At length, he said, "Salazar Slytherin."

"Slytherin? The founder of your House?" asked Tracy, even though she knew the answer already.

"The same," replied Snape wryly. "Myths say that he kept it in the Chamber of Secrets, guarded by a monster. When his heir would arrive, he would inherit the potion as a gift."

"And so he did," murmured Ron, and Airelle swallowed something hard in her throat.

"What do you mean?"

"You-Know-Who is the Heir of Slytherin," said the Gryffindor fifth-year miserably. "I know that in his day, he discovered the Chamber."

"How?"

"Harry Potter…" Ron began, ignoring the look on Snape's face, "saved my sister Ginny from Tom Riddle in the Chamber. Riddle had preserved himself in a diary and was controlling her. Harry killed the basilisk… he told me later that Riddle talked about his finding the Chamber in his last year at Hogwarts."

"That means," said Alica thoughtfully, "he found the recipe for the Mortis Potion as well!"

"But never had the chance to brew it," Tracy finished the thought.

"So now," continued Snape, "once Voldemort discovered that the books were still at Hogwarts—he thought they'd been lost—naturally, he wanted them back."

"The recipe's hidden in one of those books," said Airelle softly. "That way, Voldemort won't need to have a spy at Hogwarts, or murder Snape or Dumbledore… he'll kill off three-quarters of the world in one shot! No wonder he wants it."

"Exactly."

"But… isn't Voldemort non-pureblood himself? And what about some of his followers?"

"The brewer of the potion and anyone he chooses to protect will not be affected by it," said Snape, leaning on the wall.

"Hmm…" murmured Airelle, looking at the bars again. "One thing bothers me—why didn't Dumbledore destroy the recipe in the first place? Even if he could not tell which book it was in, why not destroy all the books and forget about it?"

"Because," said Snape, eyes glittering in the darkness against his black hair, "the recipe may only be destroyed by the person who inherits it. One can try anything, from charms to curses, but nothing will affect it unless the caster is the one for whom the recipe is intended."

"You-Know-Who," said Neville shakily.

"Precisely."

"And he," said Airelle, "is about as willing to obliterate it as I am willing to tap dance."

Tracy sighed, and Ron massaged his temples.

"Is there no other way to stop it?"

"Yes, Professor Snape," asked Airelle courteously, "you said the Black Death—the bubonic plague, they called it—was the result of the potion. How was it stopped last time?"

"The Ministry of Magic forced its caster to stop the potion's power and do a counter-curse. But only that person can do it. Otherwise…"

"So, there's only one thing to do, then," muttered Airelle through gritted teeth.

"What, Professor?" asked Neville.

"Not let him get it."

Ron stood up. "But that's suicide!"

"Then what do we do?" piped up Tracy hotly. "If You-Know-Who gets his paws on it, we're all doomed anyway!"

"For once," grumbled Snape, giving everyone in the room except Airelle a cold look, "I think you're right, Miss Patts."

"Hmph."

"And why _does_ Noah," interrupted Airelle, much to the relief of all the students, "want me to go back with him to Hogwarts?"

"He knows you know where the room is…"

"And I bet," said Snape, "Dumbledore bewitched the cabinet so that not everyone can open it."

"You mean it's like the Mirror of Erised?" asked Ron.

Everyone stared. "Eh?"

"Ohh…never mind… but what I mean is--only a person with good intentions will be able to get the books?"

"Hmm," said Airelle, "maybe. After all, we opened the cabinet… but we were not planning on stealing anything. We didn't even know what was in there. And even you two—" (her head turned to the two Ravenclaws, who winced) "—only took the book out of curiosity."

"Noah suspects that he may need you to open it," Snape said, crossing his arms. "I suppose he wanted, as Neville, to coax you into revealing the location of the room, but then gave up."

"You're right. I remember now… during our broom practices, he would always ask me about the secret rooms at Hogwarts and what they were for, and which ones were the oldest…"

"But he still couldn't get it out of you," continued Snape, "so he finally gave up and decided to find the room himself."

"Who's betting that it was exactly the reason he was in the dungeons on Valentine's Day?"

Snape nodded. "He fabricated that story about Potter wanting to see you to get you out of school, because he knew that Potter would want to speak with you anyway. And then, he went off looking for the room, but failed because of my presence nearby. He knew it would be too dangerous for him, so he decided to just force you to tell him the location."

"And the first step was to silence Delilah."

"Exactly."

Airelle remembered the staff meeting. "Madam Pomfrey was saved by pure chance. Who would have known that Neville could have possibly been the one to—" She stopped, seeing the look on the real Neville's face.

"Are you all right?" she asked, looking him in the eyes.

"Oh, I don't feel so well… I just can't believe that… that…"

"Git?" supplied Ron, and Neville nodded numbly.

"Yes… that he'd do something, and use my appearance…"

"Well, it's not your fault," said Airelle. "We all are victims, some time or another."

"Can you believe this, though?" mused Tracy thoughtfully. "Dumbledore is away from Hogwarts right now… I bet he took every precaution so that nothing would go amiss there. But outside the school, look what happened. Oh, if only we'd stayed there today, none of this would've ever happened."

"Yes," said Alica quietly. "If only."

"But then," said Ron, looking down at the floor, "we would have never known the truth."

"Now we know the truth," replied Tracy, "and has it helped us any? We're in a cell in the middle of who-knows-where, waiting for our deaths, hanging by a thread!"

"Hmm," murmured Airelle, "perhaps not all is lost. Maybe the truth shall play a good role for us. After all, now we know what we are up against. Noah will not have the recipe, I swear it."

"Now, Airelle," said Snape carefully, "don't promise what you cannot fulfill. You cannot—"

"And what?" she asked, desperately wishing the two of them were alone, so she could speak freely. "If I give it up, Noah will get the recipe to Voldemort—and then, nothing will save any of us Muggle-borns, starting with me." Mentally, she tried in vain to transmit her worries to him: _You must understand, no matter what Voldemort may promise me as a reward, either a swift death or protection from the potion, I will not succumb. I cannot. You yourself said you'd never forgive me if I joined him; so live up to your words. I'll fight hand and foot to keep Noah away from that cabinet, and we both know it._

"I am not brave," she said. "I'm just practical. One life is not worth more than millions. The Dark Lord will never see that recipe, or I never was an Auror."

There was silence from the room. Finally, Neville asked, "But Professor…what can we do?"

"Don't do anything reckless," she replied, looking pointedly at Ron and sideways at Snape, whose faces looked stony. "Let me try and get help if I can, and return for you."

"No," Snape said abruptly, moving closer and facing her. "Airelle, you cannot return here."

"You will die otherwise," she said quietly, "and you know it. Let me get help and come back."

"Get help if you can, and escape, but do not come back. You know how Voldemort's followers are. They shall not be hesitant."

"Neither will I."

"Airelle," he said, with a dangerous tone that she recognized at once, "be smart, and don't play their game. Do only what you need… but do not return. Let me take care of this. You know," and here he sounded almost desperate, "they will kill you immediately upon discovering you are the cause of their plans going awry."

"I don't care, I'm not letting you and my students rot in here."

Snape looked ready to explode, but never got the chance to.

The door opened again, and in walked—Snape?

_Noah Lieton, using Polyjuice Potion, _said Airelle to herself. _He must've taken some of Snape's hair when we were unconscious, and slipped it into the potion. Now, no one will think anything's gone wrong; I'll be returning to Hogwarts with Snape, just like I left it with Snape. Damn. Damn it._

"Well, Ms. Vilka," he said, and the very intonation of Airelle's own friend's voice scared her, "it's time."

The bars opened, and taking one last look at her friend and students, the Illusions professor allowed herself to be blindfolded and led out of the room, Noah's wand never ceasing to dig into her back.

_Forgive me, Snape,_ Airelle apologized mentally. _This time, I will not follow your advice. I will make sure they pay for this. And oh, I'll return with a vengeance._

To Be Continued…


	26. Something Wicked

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 26 Something Wicked

There were few things worse than being led blindfolded through a wood by a Death Eater pointing a wand at one's back. Well, except maybe dating Lockhart, the pinnacle of all things gone wrong with the male gender. But at this moment, even Airelle would have preferred a rendezvous with that idiot to the situation she was in. At least she could pummel Lockhart senseless. With Noah, it was not a likely course of events.

The tip of the wooden stick dug into the small of her back, making her shiver involuntarily. Of all times to be remembering Snape. And speaking of Snape – he was going to kill her when she came back for him. That is, if Noah or Voldemort wouldn't do so first.

How was she going to get out of this? They'd been walking for at least twenty minutes, and Airelle's brain still had not flowered with any worthy ideas. Instead, she had been thinking of how she was going to find this place again. So far, she'd received three clues to its location – gray marble floors was the first, sylvan surroundings was the second… And also, the most important one—the place was protected from Apparating Spells, just like Hogwarts. Otherwise, why would they walk anywhere when they could just Apparate into Hogsmeade from the cell?

A sharp prod from Noah signaled her to walk faster, and it was all the ex-Auror could do to keep from lashing out at him verbally. This was not the time to risk one's life, not yet.

_If I had never become an Auror, what would my life have been like? _she found herself wondering despite her circumstances. _Where would I be right now? Still at Hogwarts, maybe as a teacher, like I am today? Or in a completely different country, perhaps?_

Was it innate human nature to reflect on one's life when he or she was in danger of death? In any case, Airelle could not help but remember her last interview with Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic. She had been fresh out of Hogwarts then, armed only with a recommendation letter from Albus Dumbledore and her own ambition…

_"Well, Miss… Vilka, is it?" said Cornelius Fudge, pushing up his reading glasses and blinking up at the skinny, pale figurine of a girl in front of him. "You think you can be one of the Ministry's finest, do you?"_

_ She bowed. "I don't think, Your Honor… I know."_

_ A hint of a smile stretched the elderly man's features, and he fixed his slightly lopsided bowler hat. "Indeed?"_

_ "With all due respect, sir," said Airelle, "I was meant for it. The magical community needs more of us, in this dark hour."_

_ "Hmm, yes, well…" he paused, scratching something on a paper with a quill. "You are held in high regard by your professors, and especially my good friend Albus… excellent grades, an Illusions expert, I see…" He suddenly looked up, realizing he'd been speaking aloud. Airelle watched him in curiosity._

_ "Ahem," he declared, "Miss Vilka, by all standards, you fit the requirements. However, there is one vital thing missing that I must know, my dear."_

_ "What is it, sir?" she asked, tilting her head sideways in surprise._

_ "How is it that you, who are so young and inexperienced, have suddenly decided to switch your career choice to an Auror so close to Graduation?"_

_ Airelle bit her lip. She couldn't tell him about her best friend's deflection to Voldemort, not ever. But…_

_ "Your Honor," she replied, "I want to make certain no one else makes the fatal decision to join You-Know-Who. As a healer, I could have helped many recover from injuries. But as an Auror, I can prevent them from experiencing the pain in the first place."_

_ There was silence for a long time. Then Fudge placed his elbows on his desk and said, "Miss Vilka, could you please open my office door?"_

_ Airelle hesitated for a moment; what if he was telling her to leave? "Uh…certainly, sir," she said, and cautiously pulled on the handle._

_ When she opened it, the space in the doorway was filled by a huge, tall man in rich blue robes. Airelle looked back at Fudge, confused._

_ "Miss Vilka," said the Minister, "this is Omar Fauks." The dark-skinned wizard smiled at Airelle, showing two rows of perfect white teeth. He was about two heads taller than she, and his enormous build signified that he may have once played Quidditch Beater or Keeper. However, for all his size, Omar Fauks's smile was as gentle as of a toy teddy bear._

_ "Mr. Fauks, meet Airelle Vilka," continued Fudge as Airelle shook hands with the newcomer. Just one of those hands could easily grasp around her neck; yikes. "She will be your apprentice for the coming months. And then, she shall join your team."_

_ Airelle's ensuing smile was almost as big as Omar's._

"Hold it, here," said Snape's voice in her ear. Airelle nearly jumped in shock before remembering it was Noah, using Polyjuice Potion.

"What, are we at Hogwarts already?" she asked sarcastically, stopping and feeling the tall grass tickle her ankles.

"Well," he said, "no, not exactly. We are getting ready to Apparate. But first… I wanted to stop and smell the surrounding air. Isn't it a fresh and lovely night?"

"What, has your own putrid Death Eater stench finally gotten to you?"

The wand was jabbed so hard into Airelle's skin that she almost cried out. "I'd watch yourself if I were you, Auror," Noah growled deeply, inching five ice-cold fingers towards her neck. "Wouldn't want me to cut out that pretty little tongue of yours. Don't you know," he continued, "that I am in control here? You'll do anything I want, when I want, and how I want it, is that clear, girl?"

It was the absolute worst thing to say to someone like Airelle. "If you want to be hammered into a bloody pulp, that is," she replied, with a glare she knew no one could see because of the blindfold. Noah just laughed.

"Oh, my dear, I don't plan on forcing you to do anything," he purred, sliding up against her back, wand never ceasing to point right at her. She gasped, but not because of the sensation. It was the memory it brought – her nightmare, of Snape being at her back, like this… and planning to kill her, because he was Voldemort… that was it; Noah was disguised as Snape now, and followed Voldemort. That nightmare had almost been foresight. Dear God.

"You will do what I wish, or your friends will suffer a fate much worse than death."

"Please," she sneered. "Voldemort will kill them no matter what I do for you."

"On the other hand," said Noah slowly, "you can save them all, including yourself, by doing one thing."

"Such as?…"

"Simple," he replied. "Join us."

Now here was a test. This was very much unlike that time at Graduation, when she had a choice of going or not… this was either death for her, Snape, and the four students, or… survival of all of them. Airelle decided to stall.

"If I reveal the location of the room to you," she said, "you'll still kill us all after your Master receives the recipe."

"So you know about the potion," he murmured. "You're smarter than I thought… which is all the more reason for you to join the Dark Lord. You shall be a great asset to us. As for your friends… once the potion is made, you, as a loyal Death Eater, will be protected, along with the four children."

"And Snape?"

Noah paused. "I cannot guarantee his survival. Though he is of pure wizard blood, my Master has a bone to pick with him, you see. But is his life worth more to you than your own? And what about your precious students?"

Airelle thought about it. Choosing the right path was not that easy when someone was pointing a wand at you. Snape's words to her echoed from long ago… _Lord Voldemort has given me the power to give you anything you ever wanted…_

"Lord Voldemort will give you the power," said Noah, startling Airelle out of her thoughts, "to do anything you ever wanted. And besides," he added, "he shall win, ultimately. It will then be just a question of whose side you are on. If you're with my Master, you'll live. If not, you'll die. Easy, no?"

"Yes…" she murmured, "it is easy, indeed."

"So, what is the best thing to do?" he prompted. There was a long silence. And then—

"You know what?" spat Airelle. "Go to hell."

"As you wish," said Snape's voice calmly. "Imperio."

Airelle saw herself as if in a dream… Apparating to Hogsmeade, greeting passers-by as she walked, coming to Hogwarts, Noah drinking more Polyjuice Potion… And wow, here was the main entrance. The Illusions professor saw the Weasley twins approach her, wary of the man by her side, whom they of course perceived to be Severus Snape. But how far from the truth!

"Professor!" they grinned simultaneously. "We missed you at dinner!"

"I've been busy," she replied hollowly; the words were not hers.

Taking one glance at Noah, George Weasley nearly fell over laughing, but managed to maintain his composure long enough to say, "Oh… well, Professor McGonagall wants to know if you'll be joining her for supper."

_Yes! Yes! Just get me away from him!!_

"No," she said, heading toward a passageway that led to the dungeons. "Tell the Headmistress I do not feel well, and am retiring to my quarters."

"Alright," said Fred, "but aren't your quarters… upstairs?"

_Oh, thank Merlin, they noticed that much. Boys, you know something's wrong—it's not a joke… go tell McGonagall, Flitwick, somebody!_

"Not anymore," said Snape/Noah curtly, and began to lead Airelle away. Fred and George Weasley stared at them in shock before exploding into snickers. "Never mind, Professor!" they called after Airelle as they walked off.

_No, come back, please—you don't understand—_

"Well, well," said Noah in her ear when the two reached the dark corridor of the dungeons, "what was that line again?—'By the prickling of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes?' Yes, that's it. And it looks like that 'something wicked' is me," he chuckled.

Airelle did not reply. Instead, her mind was wildly focusing on her Auror training. Learning to withstand the Imperius Curse was something every Auror should have known, but Airelle did not. She had read much on the subject, but she had never actually experienced any of the Unforgivables until now. Airelle had kept postponing the date of her Unforgivables testing—mainly because she was afraid of failure… but also because she never thought the Imperius Curse would be put on her. She was part of a huge team, and there was no way any particular Death Eater would strike her unless she was alone. Then again, it was a foolish move on her part. Her good friend Omar would be able to get out of it in a snap… and for all her bookish knowledge, Airelle could not fight this. Or could she?

They reached the inanimate suit of armor in the hallway. Just around the corner was the entrance to Snape's bedchambers…

"The room is here," she found herself saying.

"Excellent. Now, open the passageway."

Airelle reached to the suit's metal hand and pulled down. There was a rumble, and they walked into the hole that had opened in the stone wall.

The room was still unoccupied and dusty as ever; the few chairs carried prints of Airelle's own fingers when she'd been there last. The cabinet stood opposite them like a black landmark, closed tight.

"Finally," she heard Noah whisper from behind her, and the door to the room slid shut. There was silence; most people were at dinner, and no one could hear you scream down here.

The Death Eater reached into a fold in his cloak, and pulled out a wooden stick. In Airelle's dimmed vision, she could barely discern it, but when she did—

"That's right, girl," he said, laughing. "This is your wand, the only one I did not destroy—since you could not use mine, and I needed you."

"You," she choked hoarsely, "broke the others' wands?"

"Naturally. They shall have no need for them now."

_Then they can't even hope to escape, _came a miserable thought to Airelle. _They'll die without their wands._

"You see?" asked Noah. "The Dark Lord always wins, Auror. Always. Now be a good girl and open the cabinet, and maybe I'll let you live."

"I cannot be of any use to you," she said, taking her wand and raising it towards the cabinet all the same. "You lie."

"Every woman has her… uses," was the reply, and this time Airelle could sense Noah relishing in the words. Ye gods, how she would have loved to point that wand at him. But her fingers curled around it, and it was as if her arm had stiffened; the direction of the spell would be towards the cabinet, and no other.

"You… bloody git," she said softly, feeling the need to say the spell. "You will not triumph."

"I've had enough," answered Noah sharply. "No more games, girl, now open it!"

Obedient to the curse, her lips parted…

"Abrete!" she yelled out, and cringed, waiting for the doors to blast. But nothing happened; her wand sputtered a few sparks and fell silent.

Noah swore under his breath. "Damn him," he uttered, clenching a fist and looking like he was ready to pound Airelle in the face. "That blasted Dumbledore must've put more protection on this thing than I thought. A Selvamedora Hex, no doubt."

Airelle recognized the name as a protection spell, so that no one under any forced magic (i.e., Imperius Curse) would be able to open it. That meant—_he has to take the curse off me!_

"You are causing me more trouble than I thought," he growled, stalking around her and prodding his wand into her side. "Now, listen to me. I will take off the Curse. If you dare to point that wand anywhere but the cabinet, I will kill you. Clear?"

"Crystal," said Airelle. _Oh, big mistake on your part, Mr. Lieton. A very big mistake._

"Good. Finite Incantatem!"

She felt the warmth leave her, and suddenly regained all her senses; the chill of the dungeon room made her shiver. Airelle's hand was still holding her wand and pointing it at the cabinet. Great.

"Now, if you please," said Noah, Snape's black eyes glinting, "open it, and let go of your wand once you say the words, or you die."

_What to do? What to do?_

"Abrete exor!" she shrieked, and a jet of blue light erupted from her wand, encircling the cabinet and blinding both of them for a moment. The doors of the cabinet were thrown open by an unseen hand. Airelle dropped her wand as a small paper floated from the shelves toward them. It glowed a poisonous green, and lit up an insane smile plastered on Noah's face—Snape's face. Airelle wondered if Barty Crouch had looked like that when Dumbledore questioned him a year ago.

Noah stayed transfixed for just a second. But a second was all it took.

Airelle's hands were now free, and she used them well. Instead of going for his wand, which was still pointed at her, the ex-Auror clawed her way to his face, clamping Snape's thin mouth shut with her left hand. Can't say a curse if you're mute…

There was no time to pick up her wand; even as Snape, Noah was much stronger, and was able to rip her off himself. Airelle concentrated all her anger in one hand and threw a punch to his face. She heard a snap; the jaw had broken. Wow.

Noah tumbled backwards, his wand still in his hand… but this time, Airelle was faster. Lifting her own wand from the stones, she took aim.

"Avada Kedavra," she said, and looked away as the jet of green light struck him. Noah Lieton was dead before he hit the floor.

"Not much of an Illusions specialist, are you?" she said to the prostrate body, swallowing a bitter taste in her throat. Airelle had not used that curse for years; she'd have to answer to the Ministry about it afterwards. That is, if she were still alive after going back to help Snape and the others.

The green paper hovered in the air for a while, then vanished. The blue light cleared, revealing the cabinet, doors closed. Thank heavens; the 'Abrete exor' Illusion had made Noah believe Dumbledore's spells had been broken, and that the recipe had floated freely to him, Voldemort's follower.

Airelle sighed and raised her wand again. It was time to find out whether Snape had been right. "Abrete!" she said, and the cabinet doors sprang apart, revealing the same scene that was present there the last time—books and papers strewn all over the place. And right on the bottom shelf was something that looked like a black portfolio with silver edges. Stepping over Noah, Airelle walked cautiously closer and drew it out.

There was nothing inside, save for one tiny sheet of paper, torn from a Muggle notepad. It was greasy with finger-stains and had yellowed with age—but Airelle knew it, felt its power immediately. This was the only copy of the recipe for the Mortis Potion, a measly yet unbreakable little sheet. Airelle tried to rip it apart with her hands, and discovered she was correct in her assumptions. The paper began to glow green, bending under the pressure, but not budging even a little. It was like malleable steel.

Stuffing it absently inside her robes, Airelle turned back to the body, which was now smoking faintly. It was a horrible sight – the face frozen in terror. And the worst part of it was—it was Snape's eyes that were black and glassy, Snape's hair splattered over a pale face, Snape's lips apart in a perpetual scowl of agony. The edges of Airelle's eyes stung, and she looked at the floor. Now what was she to do? Dumbledore was away, the Ministry would not help, alerting McGonagall could send up a panic in school…or even if not, Airelle did not want a crusading brigade of teachers going to take on Voldemort. This was bad.

The answer, literally, came knocking on the door. Except that it did not knock—the passage just opened. As Airelle watched, wand forgotten and nearly limp in her hand, Harry Potter came barging into the room.

"Professor!" he exclaimed as her mouth dropped in shock. "You're alive!"

"P…Pott…HARRY?" she choked out as the Gryffindor stared at the body. "This…this isn't what you think…it's not Snape…"

"I know, I know," he said hastily, coming closer to her and grabbing her sleeve. "You have to come with me, Professor, quickly!"

Airelle, for once, did not argue. She ran after Harry out through the passage, leaving Noah Lieton and the creaking doors of the dark cabinet behind.

To Be Continued…

A/N: Short? Yes, I know. But I promise, we'll be (or at least Airelle will be) discovering quite a few things she did not know in the next chapter. Stick around, you'll enjoy it! (Merlin's beard, I sound cliché…)


	27. Desperate Measures

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Long and Important Author's Note: **I beg forgiveness from you all.**  As you know, fanfiction.net has not been working for a while, so I could not upload… Also, I have so much homework, plus college applications to do.  I did not wish to disappoint you, so I wrote this chapter.  Now, this was originally much longer.  Instead, in order to not make you wait any more, I decided to split it into two parts, and rewrite the first one--- which is what you see here.  So, this is Chapter 27.  Please bear with me.  In other news, as soon as vacation comes, I shall be renovating my Sleepy Hollow website (see my bio) in order to add a Harry Potter section showcasing the Airelle Vilka Chronicles. :)  So be patient, don't murder me, and I promise I'll have the stuff working soon enough.  (I despise college deadlines.)  I need some Coca-Cola to cheer myself up… But then again, I'm happy, I finally got to finish this! (Thanks to everyone for encouraging me --- threatening to keel haul me is more like it --- to write this chapter.  I really do love you guys. ^-^)

By the way, feel free to e-mail me (Alyza_@excite.com) any time you desire, day or night.  I'll reply… eventually. LOL…  My screws are loose… No, literally, my chair (I have one of those rotating ones) has taken such a beating from my derriere over the years that its screws at the bottom always fly off somewhere.  And then I step on them and howl in pain.  :)

Chapter 27 ~ Desperate Measures

_"Pulling myself up by a rope I better my view_

_The only thing in sight is what I must do_

_As I turned, I could see myself falling_

_Which in return gave me strength for the climb…"_

_~No Doubt, _"The Climb"

            Even with the glow of the crescent moon, it was still so dark.  So dark.  The initial adrenaline that had coursed through Airelle's bloodstream was gone with Noah's death; now, all that remained was tiredness and pain.  It hurt – hurt to breathe, hurt to walk, hurt to think… of the coldly still body, and of her best friend.  Terrible images drifted relentlessly through her mind, as if on a macabre parade; a never-ending line – tombstones, so many tombstones, hoary with moss and cracked with age, bearing no epitaphs.  No words engraved rudely into the stone tablets… but all knew full well who was resting underneath – Granger, Thomas, Longbottom, Weasley, Potter.  And Malfoy, one Malfoy who'd realized too late what he had done.  Muggle-born and pureblood, all who had opposed Voldemort, together.  Some had no graves at all.

            And on the edge of the long field, almost all overgrown with tall grass and ivy creepers, stood a small headstone.  The only grave that had not been washed with tears of the survivors at one time or another.  There was no Niobe to stand eternally, pouring streams from her orbs, over this grave.  No; this one was special, for it was washed with blood.

            Above it stood a hooded figure, young, but bent and ancient-looking, like a formerly majestic tree that had finally succumbed to a tempest.  Desperately, it clawed at its left arm, its own life-giving force streaming down in crimson rivulets and seeping into the black ground, feeding the grass that had sprung there.

            "How could you dare, Snape?  Why'd you have to die for me?  Look at me---I did this for you, do you hear me?  _I did it for you!!!_"

            Airelle didn't even know her eyes had been closed.  She opened them, blinked, and picked out Harry Potter's anxious face from the dark.  They were outside the castle, in the shadows of the Whomping Willow.  When had they come through the corridors – the entrance? – had it happened in a blur that Airelle did not recall being a part of?

            "Professor?"

            She did not reply.

            His tone got even more troubled.  "Professor!"

            "Wha…oh, Harry… what is it?"

            The fifth year looked convinced that Airelle had finally flipped her lid, but said, "We have to go under the Whomping Willow to get to Hogsmeade."

            She blinked again.  "Hogsmeade?  Why there?  And how—"

            "I'll explain later," said Harry, and turned towards the tree.  Airelle, however, found enough sense and composure in herself to grab the boy's shoulder and spin him back harshly to face her.

            "No," she said, adopting her sternest tone.  "You explain now.  No more secrets, Mr. Potter— many people's lives are in danger."

            Harry wriggled out of her grasp, and she didn't even notice it (her fist was still clutching empty air where the boy's robes used to be).  "Yes, I know," he replied quickly, looking at her as if she were an escapee from St. Mungo's Mental Trauma Wing, "but you need our help… and that's why we have to get to Hogsmeade soon, to get Professor Lupin!"

            "Lupin?" asked Airelle in shock, lowering her fist.  She'd completely forgotten that her former classmate existed.  "What does he have to do with this?"

            "He… he figured out who was behind the attacks," said Harry, "but we… we thought it was too late, because both you and he had gone out of Hogwarts… and Dumbledore's in London now…and…"

            "I see, I see," she answered shortly.  "I think Professor Lupin can explain this whole thing to me better.  Take me to him, and hurry – it may be too late for the others…"

~*~

            Airelle had had no idea that a tunnel entrance to Hogsmeade was planted right underneath the Whomping Willow.  In fact, she'd refused to believe it until Harry Potter climbed under the tree's gargantuan branches and pressed something on the trunk.  Airelle decided to ask how he knew about the passageway's existence later.

            "Are you certain this is the right direction?" she inquired apprehensively as they groped their way along the damp walls.  Airelle had always had a certain fear of closed-in spaces, especially underground, and with her weakened emotional state, it was not a happy thing to think of.

            "Pardon my frankness, Professor," said Harry out of the darkness, "but this is a one-way tunnel."

            "Oh," she said bluntly, and kept on walking.

            "It shouldn't be long now," Harry was speaking, and she believed him; for the tunnel had begun to rise higher and higher… finally, it made a sharp twist, and they had to turn with it.  Shreds of light greeted them at the end, much to Airelle's relief.  There was a small opening up on top, soft glow emanating from it.

            "Let me go first, Harry," urged Airelle, and brushed past him.  "I am eager to see where we are, and what exactly is going on here."  Everything on her mind was getting to Lupin as fast as possible.  Airelle poked her head cautiously out of the hole… and immediately wished she hadn't.

            Because she was staring right into the face of Sirius Black, the Azkaban fugitive.

            "AAAARRRRGGGGGHHH!!!!"

            "AAAAAAHHHH!"  Both of them recoiled, Black toppling backwards onto the floor and out of sight, Airelle into the hole again – narrowly missing Harry, who had planned to climb up after her.  Jumping up from the floor of the tunnel, Airelle backed against the shadowy wall and took up position, wand raised.  All worry was gone for now; what remained was automatic, Auror-trained instinct.

            "No, wait, Professor—STOP!"  A frantic Harry pulled on her sleeve and wouldn't let go as there came a thunderous crash from above them.  Airelle, however, was stark enough that not even a bulldozer was likely to move her.  The inside of her hand was sweating with the force of her grip on the wand.  Her main objective was to incapacitate Black, not kill him; that was up to the Ministry.  Although…he did have a Kill on Sight order on him…

            Another voice suddenly cut into Black's muffled swearing (apparently, the fall had hurt him).  "Sirius, what are you doing down here by yourself?"  It took a second for that voice to sink into Airelle's beleaguered, overworked brain.

            "Harry?" asked Hermione Granger, peering underground.  Her face was partially hidden, and she was as pale as a wraith.  "Are you all right?"

            "Fine," the boy coughed back, releasing Airelle's sleeve.  "Professor Vilka, you can put away your wand… I didn't warn you because I thought you'd meet Sirius later on… he's innocent."

            "Innocent?" retorted Airelle skeptically, but lowered her wand all the same.  "Harry, the Headmaster may trust him…" Here, she remembered Lupin's conversation with Snape on December 17th.  "…However the Headmaster may trust him," she repeated, "I don't think I'll grant that to anyone for a while, not after what I've been through tonight."

            "Oh, but I assure you, Airelle," said a new voice, "you do not have to be wary of my good friend here."

            "So Snape had been right," she said slowly as Remus Lupin came into view and stood beside Hermione.  "You are in cahoots with Black, Lupin."

            "You make it sound like a bad thing, Vilka," croaked Sirius, rising up off the floor as Airelle finally allowed herself to be pulled up by the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.  His left arm was bandaged and in a sling, and his hollow eyes held a sparkle of animosity.  But just a little one; now, it seemed like he was too focused on the pain in his arm, which had caused him to wince repeatedly.  Airelle stared at him, forgetting even to look around at where the tunnel had led her.  She had never seen someone who looked as sane after Azkaban as this man did, and that was disturbing enough in itself.  Dumbledore had been right – only passion could have kept Black going… and the way everyone seemed to be treating him, it looked like that passion had been fueled by the knowledge of his innocence.  But if Black did not betray the Potters – then who did?

            "I understand you have a lot of questions, Airelle," said Lupin mildly, watching Harry lift himself safely up from the tunnel and onto the wooden floor and then turning back to the Illusions professor, who stood dumbstruck.  "You shall not be kept in the dark for long.  But in return, you must answer some of our inquiries as well."

            It took less than a second for Airelle to reply.

"It's a deal, Lupin.  But I'll keep my wand handy, just in case."

~*~

            An hour later, the five people were on the top floor of the Shrieking Shack—Black and Hermione sitting on the broken, three-legged chairs, Harry and Airelle leaning against the wall, and Lupin pacing to and fro across the room.  No one seemed to want to sit on the dusty four-poster bed in the corner.  

            "I can't believe it," said Airelle finally into the thick silence.  "I just don't believe it.  Pettigrew?  Peter Pettigrew betrayed your parents, Harry?"

            No one answered; she looked up, and saw Black nod repeatedly, vigorously.

            "That piece of slime," he said, and his voice was cold.  "He's the reason I spent twelve years in that horrible place…the reason my best friend is dead now, and the reason my godson has no mother or father to care for him."

            There was more silence, during which nobody wanted to continue the conversation.  Airelle was the one to speak again.  There were still many unanswered questions.

            "It's no wonder I couldn't feel the power of Gryffindor in Peter… he was a liar and fraud all along.  And now, according to what you told me, he has even greater power, with that new hand… I can't believe it, can't believe he would do this…"

            "Friends betray each other, sometimes," said Lupin sadly, pausing in his stride and looking at Airelle intently.  She wanted to sink into the wall from that look.

            "And no one wants to believe you, Black," she said.  "Snape was knocked out two years ago on this very spot before he knew the whole truth."

            "He only knows that Dumbledore trusts me," said Sirius, with another tinge of ice in his voice.  "But it would not matter—he'd hate me even if I were canonized as a saint."

            Airelle did not reply; she knew Black was right.  "Well… now I plead on his behalf," she said instead, looking straight into Black's eyes—forcing herself to look.  It was hard to believe that this was the same boy who'd played practical jokes on her years ago…

            "He needs your help, and so do Harry's friends," she continued, wringing her hands.  "The Ministry will think I've gone mad, and who is left?  Remember…Ron, Neville, Alica, and Tracy are still there, not just Snape.  I do not want them to die.  It is only a matter of time before Voldemort discovers I've killed Noah… and then, he'll unceremoniously murder my friends, and yours."

            Harry and Hermione looked jointly horrified.  Neither Lupin nor Black said anything.

            "Look," exclaimed Airelle, pushing herself off the wall and walking right towards Remus Lupin, "please, help me.  Yes, friends do betray each other… and I confess, we were never close, myself and you…and Black as well… but we're all against Voldemort now.  And so is Professor Snape."

            "But, Professor Vilka…he became a Death Eater," said Harry quietly, and Airelle winced.  Ron Weasley hadn't been lying.  He knew.

            "We all know that," said Black, nursing his arm.  "Why do you trust Snape?  He betrayed everyone, replaced you with Voldemort once—so what's stopping him from pulling some strings now?  Maybe he has orchestrated this whole thing!  You don't know for certain what is in his mind… maybe he's been manipulating your—" (he snorted)—"_friendship_… with him."

            Airelle scowled.  "You resemble him, you know that, Black?" she sneered brutally, her dark eyes flashing.  "You held in the hatred… not even Azkaban could get it out of you.  As far as I'm concerned, you both are foolish."

            "Now, wait a second!" said Lupin, interrupting Sirius, who was about to snarl back.  "That is a fair question, Airelle.  Why DO you trust Severus that much?"

            Airelle blinked at him.  He couldn't possibly read her eyes---could he?  She looked away, just in case.

            "Professor Snape made some mistakes in his life; no one has the power to deny that," she said.  "But everyone commits bad deeds… and he's atoned for his.  I have forgiven him, Lupin… because I realized that no matter what he had done, it did not change anything.  He will remain my friend, even if he raises his wand and murders me in my own bed.  I'll still, always lo—"  Here, Airelle paused, realizing she'd been speaking aloud, and had said too much.  There was no going back, however.

            "Love him," she finished, slowly.  "He's my best friend, and I shall respect him until the hour of my death.  Just like you did with James, Lupin.  You loved him more than yourself.  And just like you are doing now, with Sirius Black."

            "She's right," said Hermione, who had traces of a tear carved on her cheek.  "And oh…Ron…"

            There was a long pause.  And then, Lupin smiled.

            "Very well," he said softly.  "We'll help."

            "The ever-valiant Marauders," said Airelle, crossing her arms.  How strange – now, this odd band – a werewolf, a fugitive, and two students – was her only hope of saving her lover and her students.  Not to mention the whole Muggle world.

            She really should've stayed in her bed that morning.

            "Of course," said Lupin, brushing back his long strands of hair, which was slightly tangled.  "Our problem will be great, however… you said Noah broke the others' wands… which means the two of us may come across Death Eaters armed only with our own magic, and having five others to protect—"

            "Wait a minute!" interrupted Airelle, glancing towards Black.  "What do you mean, the two of us?"

            "Hermione will have her own task, and Harry needs to stay with Sirius here in the Shrieking Shack."

            "Then what is the POINT of getting help if there is only one more person coming back with me?!??"

            "Relax," said Lupin calmly, "you didn't hear the rest of it.  Right now, it isn't our main concern.  We must find the way back to your captors without being seen…"

            Airelle threw her arms up in exasperation.  "Lupin, how on earth will we know where to begin?  It could be anywhere within Apparating distance…and though I may have some clues, it is nothing compared to the breadth of the places we could visit by those criteria…"

            "What I am afraid of," said Hermione suddenly, "is that the place may be Unplottable."

            "Hmm…" mused Lupin thoughtfully, stroking his chin.  "You may be right… Voldemort could have anticipated Noah's failure and taken precautions… finding this place quickly may be a tricky ordeal."

            Airelle froze.  If the location was indeed Unplottable, like Hogwarts—not able to be put on a map—they had a real problem on their hands.  A real problem, if they wanted to get to Snape and the others tonight…

            _Put him out of your head, Vilka… think of him as another captive, like Ron and Tracy, Alica…and Neville.  It'll be your undoing if you do something stupid because he shares a bed with you._

_            Easy to say,_ Airelle told the nagging voice in her head.  _Not simple to do.  I won't lose him to Voldemort a second time.  I had sworn to that._

_            Then perhaps, _scolded the voice viciously, _Snape was right about you.  You'd better not return, or you'll regret it._

_            Not a chance.  There's nothing that'll keep me away… not even the Dark Lord himself.  Nothing…except maybe…a lack of a map…_

            Something hit her out of nowhere, and she looked up sharply at Lupin.  "Wait!" Airelle exclaimed, beginning to pace round the room and giving everyone a headache.  "If we assume the worst… that Voldemort has made this place Unplottable…then there is no way we can pinpoint its location on a real map…"

            "We know that already," said Black.  "Your point?"

            "My _point_ is, genius," Airelle hissed, "that Voldemort may have omitted a tiny little thing in his plans."

            "Get on with it, Airelle," prompted Lupin, crossing his arms.

            Airelle looked like Isaac Newton who'd just discovered the fundamentals of gravity.  "Yes... yes… I can't believe I never thought of this before… Voldemort hates Muggles, right?  Even though he's a Muggle-born himself… still, in his rush… he might have forgotten…"

            While Airelle's face dawned, the others looked stumped.  "Eh?"

            "Yes, of course," repeated Airelle excitedly, "this could work…"

            "All right, calm yourself," said Lupin carefully, eyeing her as if she were about to explode and splatter the walls.  "What do you have in mind?"

            The Illusions professor stopped in her tracks and whirled to survey the crowd gathered before her.  After a while, she said, "Right… Remus, Hermione… come with me… Harry, stay with your godfather, he'll need your help.  Here…"  Reaching into her sleeve, she pulled out a small pouch of powder and handed it to Black, who looked as confused as Harry.

            "Your arm," she explained exasperatedly, shoving the pouch into his palm.  "You've been burned by a magical fire somewhere—you don't need to explain—I know you needed special treatment from a hospital, obviously, you couldn't just walk in there—and this is part of my self-preservation kit—so, here you go, and save yourself the trouble."

            Black stared at her, then at the pouch again.

            "Mix this with three parts water and drink it… the burns will leave in three hours and seventeen minutes, precisely."

            "But," Harry stammered, "where'd you get this, Professor?  I thought hospital special-malady treatments were illegal to possess unless you had a licen—"

            "Well, forgive my breaking the law just this once, Harry, and I won't tell anyone you're hiding a fugitive near Hogwarts," she smiled, and headed off to join Lupin and Hermione in front of the dead fireplace.  They looked as disturbed as Black and Harry, and only slightly less confused.

            Airelle stopped in front of Lupin and adopted the voice of that leader of the Auror Suicide Squad who existed a long time ago.  "Does either of you have Floo Powder?" she asked.  Hermione shrugged, and Lupin asked, "Why?"

            "I really hope this house is connected to the Floo Network," replied Airelle.  "The three of us need to take a little trip."

            It turned out that Remus Lupin carried a veritable inventory inside his robes (which, oddly enough, hadn't included the remedy that Airelle had given Black), out of where he pulled out a small vial of Floo Powder.

            Perfect.

            Airelle lit the fireplace and began to give mechanical instructions.

            "Right then, boys and girls.  Here's where the real fun starts."

            Hermione did not look convinced at this.  Airelle pointedly ignored it.

            "Once I light the fire, step in and say 'Vilka Home,'" she continued, distributing the powder into their palms in small pinches.  "You'll be transported to my residence, and there, we'll try and find our friends' location."

            "How?" asked Black, standing up.

            "You'll see," she replied, taking out her wand.  "Well, actually you're not coming, but in any case ---Incendio!"

            The fireplace burst into orange flames with a bang that shook the room.  Everyone careened backwards, shielding their eyes.  Apparently, it had not been lighted in a long time.

            "Good," said Airelle, and turned back to Harry and Sirius Black.  "Now," she urged, "I ask you not to do anything heroic—"

            "You mean stupid," said Black, grinning.

            Airelle didn't smile.  "Just don't go anywhere while we are gone.  No matter what, is that clear?"

            "Yes, Professor," said Harry.

            "We'll return for you."  At that, Airelle eyed the two warily, wondering if they actually believed her.

            They did.

            So much the better.

To be continued…


	28. Marble Halls

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

A/N: The Order of the Phoenix is, of course, taken from the title of JK Rowling's fifth book.  We shall see what happens… meanwhile, enjoy the chapter, and Happy Thanksgiving!

Chapter 28 ~ Marble Halls

            Airelle had not traveled by Floo Powder for a few months, but she remembered well how the ash could sting one's throat.  She closed her eyes and let her thoughts wander.  Her brain was clear now, and she allowed new plans to make themselves known.

            Voldemort did not know of Noah's death yet, so she had to hurry.  If she managed to discover the Death Eaters' location before he came after her, Airelle would be able to alert the Ministry and trap the Dark Lord's minions.

            Her plan was simple.  In her apartment, she kept a complex list of incantations that, when said together, allowed their speaker to locate anyone who had recently performed an Apparation spell.  They were beacons for picking up the magical trail of the caster's wand – similar to a Location Spell, but much more advanced, because it could be performed for a spell that had been cast hours previously, whereas the Location Spell could only work with immediate events.  Only an Auror could perform one without facing immediate Ministry charges.  Airelle thanked her stars for renewing her license, though she no longer practiced.

            The spell was difficult, and dangerous… and no one was ever certain of its accuracy.  Wizards Apparated often, and to find the right trail was next to impossible.  Which was why the Ministry never used the method much.

            But Airelle had run out of ideas, and it was worth a try.  She'd use the Locus Charm, as it was called, over a special Ministry map of England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, and their surroundings – she doubted Voldemort would station anywhere farther.  But such maps, bewitched to show Apparation trails, were hard to come by, and a simple Unplottable Spell would render the whole thing useless.

            However, Airelle had some clues to narrow her search.  The woody, hilled area – the marble halls she'd had a glimpse of – the place looked too new.  This was a surprise to her, considering that Death Eaters usually sought shelter in abandoned, run-down shacks where no one bothered to look.

            A thought flashed through her mind – perhaps they'd allowed her a glance on purpose.

            But she ignored it.  Noah was good, and she'd escaped him by luck, not merely her abilities.  Voldemort could not suspect anything – yet.

            If the place were Unplottable, however—what a pestering thought!--- but it couldn't… it really couldn't.  Someone would chance to glance upon a map, and it would be too suspicious if a well-known place did not appear.  Airelle knew it was enormous --- they'd walked in it for a long while before exiting – perhaps a building, or a home of sorts.  Surely, _someone_ had to know it was there… even under the Imperius Curse, her mind would have recognized an Illusion.  And that building, that cell was no Illusion.  It was a real place, and to make it Unplottable, even a powerful wizard needed weeks… and Voldemort was working quickly.  He could not have wiped a whole building off the map without someone at the Ministry noticing.

            Not unless---

            The Floo Powder had done its work, bringing her to the fireplace of her modest London apartment; she only visited her parents over the summer.  Coughing, the ex-Auror made a move to step out of the greenish flames, ready to find Voldemort or die trying.

            She didn't quite make it.

            It felt as if fifty pairs of hands had grabbed her robes and pulled backwards with all their might, back into the fire.  Gasping and inhaling soot, Airelle drew her wand, prepared to defend herself as she hurtled back the way she'd come, towards a drab brown frame…

            She stumbled out, short of breath and covered in black ash, onto a beautiful burgundy carpet, her disheveled roves smoking at the hems.  Her fingers curled around her wand tightly, and she was ready to utter a hex at anything that moved.

            But nothing did.  She had entered someone's cozy sitting room, from the looks of it.  The divan was unoccupied, and the sole source of light was the fireplace.  The proprietors, apparently, had gone to bed.

            The fireplace.

            Airelle spun around, her swift black eyes examining the mantelpiece, the small grate, and the magical flames that glowed green within.  Nothing.

            She looked at her robes then, which were crisped at the bottom—and put two and two together.

            _Magical fires don't burn cloth…_

            It was no person who'd pulled her back from her apartment--- it was the fire itself.  And there was only one reason for Floo Powder to do this.  Just one.

            Ignoring her smoldering garments, Airelle crossed the room in large, hurried strides, trailing ash on the lovely carpet.  Her hand reached up and wrenched back the thick curtains on the window, and paused in mid-motion.

            She did not say anything, or gasped, or so much as twitched.  She just stood simply, wand forgotten in her limp fingers, and watched the scene unfolding right across the street from her.

            The sidewalk swarmed with half-dressed people and fire engines, their lights harsh on the eyes.  The black sky was tainted with blacker smoke, which rose thickly upwards from the fire that generated it.  People were fleeing the building, leaning on each other in the dark atmosphere.

            They were Muggles, of course; their homes had been destroyed.  Airelle watched the edifice burn slowly, flames consuming it from the top down.

            Her apartment was in that building.  The Floo Powder had returned her to the nearest wizard fireplace other than her own – because her home had been devoured by the fire started in it.  Magical arson.

            And worst of all, it was a message.  Voldemort knew.

            Quickly, she drew her gaze down from the many windows of the building – empty eyes, they were – to the ground, scrutinizing every face, searching.

            There was a sudden shuffle upstairs, possibly from the master bedrooms.  Airelle ignored it.  If the owners came downstairs, she'd explain.  If not, they'd awaken to a houseful of soot in the morning.

            Whoever had started the fire – a Death Eater, undoubtedly – must have also cast the spell that saved her, the spell that landed her here, in someone else's home.  But why?  For Voldemort to revel in sadistic glee, knowing Airelle was powerless against him?  To toy with her friends' lives while she tried to convince the Ministry he'd returned?

            She wouldn't put anything past him.  But… there had to be another reason.  The Dark Lord was practical.  Insane, but practical.

            Her eyes shot through the crowds again.  Stony-faced men, women crying, children roused from their dreams in haste… no.  They were not the ones she wanted to see.

            And then, it came.  A face caught her eye, and Airelle recognized it.  Gladys Holmes, an Auror.  She came around a corner, her tanned face flushed and her lips pursed; she'd just Apparated.  And there was Devon Grendale, a noted, scarred veteran, and his son, who looked too young for the Trade.  They positioned themselves, watchful, across the street from the building, close to Airelle's temporary lookout post.

            And still more came – all in Muggle attire, all Ministry agents, all specially trained to cater to the non-magic world.  They stayed back to let Muggle law-keepers through, looking about apprehensively.  The Ministry had swooped on this one quickly, and Airelle was left wondering who had sanctioned the order.  Probably Omar, the current leader of the Suicide Squad… but not Fudge; he remained obdurate.  Then again… Dumbledore _did_ go to London to convince him… had the Headmaster succeeded?

            Another question struck her as she, hidden in the semi-darkness of the house, watched the flickering street.  Did Lupin and Hermione follow her, and if so, where were they?  She had planned to send them off to the Ministry after she discovered Voldemort's location.  There, they would have rallied every Auror who listened, and return to Airelle with them.

            But now, the idea was pointless, and the plans lay in ruin.  Her papers had curdled up in the fire, and Fudge would not allow her to do anything more without proof.  Of course, there was always Noah Lieton's body… but by the time they all returned to Hogwarts, Voldemort would kill Snape and the others for sure.  No, something had to be done now, in this very street.

            A swift, darting pair of eyes suddenly settled in hers, and there was a sharp gleam of metal.  Airelle's lips dried up like a shrivelfig.

            "Pettigrew."

            He was standing amid the Muggles, older and balder, but otherwise every bit as she remembered him.  He looked so calm and nonchalant that for a moment, Airelle thought she was hallucinating.  But she was not.  Peter Pettigrew, the veritable murderer of Lily and James Potter, was staring straight at her from the street, a pale smirk floating on his face.  He knew she was there.

            On instinct, Airelle stepped forward, with her nose almost pressed against the glass, and made to raise her wand.  But the Death Eater raised his hand underneath his Muggle coat for her to see, and she stopped dead, understanding the gesture.  If she alerted any of the Aurors outside of his presence, he'd utter a curse and take half the block and all the unsuspecting Muggles on it with him.  The ploy had worked fourteen years previously, and an innocent man was framed for it.  Sirius Black.

            Airelle's eyes followed Pettigrew's as he clenched, then unclenched his silver fist.  He then looked up meaningfully at her, and disappeared with a smile into the crowd of Muggles as silently as he'd come, scooting low to avoid the gaze of the Aurors.

            Staring at the spot where he'd vanished, Airelle realized she needed a new plan.  Alert the Ministry right away?  Go directly to Dumbledore?  Play hero and go after Voldemort herself?

            Her fingers tightened indecisively over her wand.  Her other hand stiffened too, over empty air.  But it released upon something far from empty.

            She looked down, and saw her hand holding a piece of brown paper that hadn't been there before.  Remembering Pettigrew's movements, she unrolled it hurriedly and read the blood-red letters:

            _Bring the recipe to Aberdeenshire, alone, or they die slowly._

            Airelle shut her eyes, and squeezed them tightly.  Voldemort sent Pettigrew to destroy her possessions, but not kill her – because he wanted her friends' fate to be in her hands.  Voldemort had given her an ultimatum – either she'd give him the Mortis Potion or Snape and the others would die assuredly horrible deaths.  And certainly, there were Death Eaters out there other than Pettigrew, watching her every move.  If she tried to alert the Ministry now, they'd kill the prisoners without a single thought or hesitation.

            She stared at the paper again, at the words, until her eyes stung.  Some logical part of her brain seemed to have a solution – "If you give Voldemort the potion, you and your friends will die anyway, along with thousands of Muggles and Muggle-borns.  And you will be responsible.  No one but you.  You swore never to let Voldemort see that recipe—where is your promise now?"

            Airelle clenched the paper in her hand, the sharp edge of it digging into her palm and drawing blood.  She took no notice.  Voldemort would delight in torturing her with the choice.  She could just imagine him saying, "I know you want to be practical and not let me have what I want.  But that foolish, that PREDICTABLE quality in you—that HERO in you—will give me whatever I want, and more, no matter how logical the other choice seems.  That is what's so good about you goody-two-shoes--- no matter how impenetrable you make yourselves seem, that weakness never, EVER leaves you.  You will always bend to a greater power… _mine._"

            Tears blurred her vision, and she clenched the paper even tighter.  He would be right in saying that, she knew.  No matter what happened afterwards… she could not bear knowing that because she didn't give him the potion------

            Her imagination soared to something cold and metallic-tasting: blood.  Too much blood.  Neville… the thought of Neville facing the Cruciatus Curse was too much for her.  Hermione, at one point, had told her of what had happened to the boy in one of Moody's Defense Against the Dark Arts classes… how he trembled at seeing that spider twitch—

            And Ron Weasley?…  Airelle was glad to have left Harry with Sirius.  She could not risk him anywhere near Death Eaters.  He'd be the hero, and run off to rescue his friends.  Exactly what Voldemort wanted.  Throw Harry Potter into the bargain, along with the Mortis Potion and the deaths of thousands.

            And Alica… Tracy… how would they measure up to the things Airelle had witnessed in her Auror days--- things that made some rookies' hair turn white with fear and their hands shake for the rest of their lives?  How would a pair of girls, only fourteen years old, handle it?

            And then, there was Snape.  The traitor.  Voldemort would make him suffer most of all.

            Blood trickled down from her fingers, and the burgundy carpet drank it, and still she took no notice.  Instead… her mind flew back to Christmas night and afterwards…

            Standing there, Airelle opened her eyes, and her vision cleared somewhat.  She had remembered a promise she'd made to him then—on their first night together.  She swore she'd remember what happened in that room; and now, she realized why he'd asked her to swear it.  Snape knew something like this would happen, and had tried to protect her early.  He feared that if he died, she would not take it.

            He'd been right.

            That was why he made her swear.  Snape was trying to show Airelle that she could affect the life of even someone like himself.  Thus, her own life was worth living, even without him.

            Airelle smiled over her tears.  Of course, Snape hadn't realized that his promise worked both ways.  It was engraved in her mind, a permanent reminder of what he was to her… critic, competitor, friend, and… and lover.  It tied her hands together, and that was how she wanted it.  Those words could not let her turn away.  She had to find a way to help the only person who could get rid of her nightmares, or die trying.  Period.

            Another discovery – Airelle had been afraid of death before, even as an Auror.  But if it came to staying alive or giving her life for a nasty, bitter, greasy, horrible, paranoid man – a former Death Eater – well, then she had picked out her coffin a long time ago.

            She'd been so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn't even notice the fireplace begin to burn green again.  Nor did she notice Remus Lupin and Hermione Granger until they hailed her, coughing, from the other end of the room.

            "Airelle!"

            "Professor!  What happened?… the Floo Powder—"

            Airelle did not even look back at them, but remained silent and cold, staring out the window.  Remus Lupin's voice grew worried.

            "Airelle?" he asked.  "What is it?"

            She had decided long ago, and her hands seemed to have taken on a mind of their own.  They gripped her wand of their own accord.  And before either of the newcomers could do anything, Airelle spun and raised the wand at them.  "Petrificus Partis!"

            With that came two thuds.  Lupin and Hermione were on the floor, their wands lying just a few inches off.  She had not frozen them totally, and the spell would wear off in a half hour.  By that time, she'd be long, long gone from here.

            Airelle stepped over Hermione's body, which blinked up at her in shock, and stared at Lupin.  She really did stare at him, but her eyes were not seeing him.

            "Please," she said.  A tear dripped from her cheek onto his face, and she closed her eyes to stop any more of that cruel, salty liquid from escaping.  "Please, forgive me."

            Some time later, a dark shape emerged from the house across from the burning building, and went off, seen by neither Muggle nor Auror eyes.  Airelle Vilka crossed to another block and stood in the shadow of a high fence, watching the fire for one last time.

            Then, she uttered the spell, and Apparated in the darkness with a faint _pop_.  No one had paid any attention.

            Or so she thought.

~*~

            The incantation had taken her to the forests of northern Scotland, away from prying eyes.  She recognized the familiar crunch of leaves underfoot – this was where Noah and she had Apparated from to Hogsmeade.  That meant Snape and the others were close by, in the place with the marble halls.

            But currently, Airelle had more pressing problems.  She was surrounded, immediately upon appearing, by a ring of hooded Death Eaters, seven or so, wands all raised and ready to strike like cobras.  She did not see metal—Pettigrew was not among them.  Good.

            Their leader, a man with a deep voice she did not recognize, accosted her.

            "You have brought it?"

            Airelle mustered her courage, and tried not to be afraid.  Of course, it was hard not to worry when one was closed in by Voldemort's minions.  But she needed to remain collected in order to get out of this.  Of course, she had not arrived to Aberdeenshire without a plan of her own.  It was now up to her skill and Destiny to decide if it worked, or if she died in the process. 

            She stared right into the black hood, undaunted, her flyaway hair floating softly in the late spring wind and her eyes gleaming with black fire.  "My friends first."

            The Death Eater pointed lazily in a direction somewhere behind him.  "They are alive, still."

            Airelle kept her eyes fixed directly on that hood, or it was the end of her.  "I don't believe you."

            "You are not in a position to argue," said the Death Eater icily.  "Give me the recipe."

            This was it.  Dropping her wand to the ground, Airelle reached into her pocket, slowly, so as not to set off the Death Eaters.  Drawing out a piece of paper, she held it out at her side.

            "Fair exchange," she said.  "My friends for this."

            "Excellent," replied the Death Eater, and gripped his wand.  "Imperio."

            Airelle was ready for it.  As soon as the curse hit her and she felt the warmth spreading through her veins, she made herself drop on the ground on top of her wand.  There was no other way.  Her brain reeled, but did not fight the curse.  It was waiting for an order.

            She stayed crouched, and the lead Death Eater said, "Give me the paper."

            The key to her plan lay in this.  She could not get up… and yet, the curse was telling her to follow the order.  Airelle concentrated with all her might, remembering the reality around her, and found a way out.

            Her hand threw the paper towards the Death Eater's feet, but she stayed on the floor, staring at the ground.

            _Just a little more… just don't give me another order…_

            As she'd hoped, the Death Eater bent to pick up the paper.  The others' wands were still trained on Airelle, but she did not care then.  Now, it was only her speed that counted.

            Her brain was screaming in pain, and her head felt like it was about to split open.  The curse was telling her to stay and wait for an order… but her hands did not follow.  They drew out the wand from under her knees, and Airelle felt her numb lips whisper the words, "Vacuefactum!"

            Needless to say, the Death Eaters were surprised at their captive suddenly vanishing from their midst, leaving only her burnt cloak.  Their leader, however, was smarter than she'd thought.

            "It's an Illusion!" he yelled at his underlings, who'd begun to panic.  "Show yourself!"

            Airelle winced.  That last command had been directed at her, and she was still under the influence of the Imperius Curse.  Despite the fact that she'd fought it until now, she had to obey.  She'd failed in her plan—now, all that was left to do was to kill as many of them as possible----

            A light came out of the trees that no one saw until it hit Airelle squarely in the chest as she reappeared in the center of the ring.

            "FINITE INCANTATEM!" someone roared, and her vision cleared with a snap.  Not bothering to even blink or wonder who had saved her, Airelle felt her wand again and threw herself at the nearest Death Eater.  They hit the grass, and somebody else shouted "Avada Kedavra!"

            There was a deafening BANG as from a pistol, and Airelle rolled away just in time to see the green light whiz past her and illuminate the forest.  More lights shot out from the trees, and her instincts told her to protect herself.  The Death Eater she was on top of, however, had other plans, and punched her in the face.  Her ears rang as she toppled off him, her wand leaving her fingers…but she managed to pull him with her.

            The action saved her life.  The leader of the Death Eaters shot a Killing Curse at her, but it hit the Death Eater on top of her instead.  Airelle felt the body go limp and then stiff, pinning her underneath it.  Meanwhile, the other Death Eaters fell out of position, some yelling curses into the dark trees.  Their leader, however, was undaunted, and raised his wand again.

            Airelle had no time to scramble out of the way.  He was going to kill her, and she had no wand to protect herself.  Her palm grasped convulsively at the ground, and closed over a fist-sized stone.

            Without thinking, the ex-Auror hurled it at him, like a Quaffle ---- hard.

            If she ever managed to get out of this alive, she would hug Madam Hooch until she turned blue.  Airelle had been a Chaser for Ravenclaw in her Hogwarts days--- and her Quidditch aim was true even now.  The stone hit the Death Eater right on the mark; his head rolled, and he stumbled, momentarily dazed.

            That was all the time she needed.  Scuttling out from under the dead body, Airelle ran forward without regard to her surroundings, and grabbed his hand—the one with the wand in it.  He managed to utter another Killing Curse on impulse, but the target was off.  Airelle twisted his arm to the left, and the curse hit another Death Eater.

            Even before that body had hit the ground, another flash of light emerged from the trees and felled another Death Eater.  Airelle's foe, though, had regained his alertness, and slapped her so hard that her vision blurred and her neck felt like it was going to snap.  She realized that he had dropped his wand as well and had his big hands around her throat, clamping down mercilessly and squeezing the life out of her.

            Her lungs screamed for air, and she choked, trying to keep her focus.  But all she could see was the faceless black hood, slowly becoming more and more distorted in her vision.  She felt a strange tingling in her hands, which were gripping his wrists—they were going limp.

            But then, a panic rose up like a death-rattle in her, a panic so fierce that it took control of her body completely.  Airelle lashed out with her foot, and it connected with something; what it was, she would never know.  All she knew was that the hold on her throat was loosened momentarily, and welcome air rushed back into her like a flood.  She kicked again, this time with her last fervor, and hit his stomach; the Death Eater bent slightly, still holding her neck.

            It was then that her hands regained their feeling, and tightened into fists.  Airelle gritted her teeth and delivered an uppercut punch directly to his chin between his outstretched arms.  The consequences were played out in front of her like a slow-motion movie.  He went back up suddenly, and then went backwards, her fist having followed through with the punch.  Luckily, Aurors were trained in hand combat, in case wands were not available.  What happened next was gruesome, but picturesque.  There was a tremendous snap, as if one of the forest branches had been cracked in two.  He let go of her, and fell on his back, his neck bent at a horrible angle.  Airelle dropped on her knees, gasping for more air, as he died beside her.

            It was a while before she glanced up, and marveled at the silence.  She was pretty certain she was not dead--- and yet… what had happened to the other Death Eaters?  Here were their bodies, on the damp grass, their robes swaying gently in the breeze and their wands beside them, master-less.

            Her question was answered when a person stepped out from behind a tree.  Though Airelle did not see his face, she recognized the profile at once.  After all, she had only seen him an hour or two previously.

            It was Sirius Black.

~*~

He looked around very carefully before approaching her, and made certain all the Death Eaters were not moving.  Then, he stepped over their bodies and knelt by her side.

            "Looks like I arrived just in time," he said, eyeing the bruise that had blossomed over her left eye and holding out a hand to her.  His arm, the one she'd treated in Hogsmeade, looked completely healed.

            Airelle stared at him.  "How—"

            "I'll explain later," said Black, pulling her up with him and helping her steady herself.  Airelle, however, wrenched away her hand and glowered at him.

            "No, you don't.  Explain now," she said, with a voice more firm than even she had hoped to hear.

            "I can see there's no halting you, o great warrior," he smiled, and his haggard face looked healthier in the moonlight.  "But why don't we start walking first, so as we are not discovered here?"

            Airelle nodded, and followed him out of range of the fallen Death Eaters, picking up two of their all-concealing cloaks on the way.  (She did not need to get the paper she'd handed to their leader—it was a counterfeit recipe.)  Then, as soon as she'd concealed the bodies with a well-placed charm, she turned back to Sirius.

            "Start at the beginning," she said.  "Why do you have a wand, when it is traditional to break the wand of an Azkaban prisoner?"

            "Ollivander," he replied.  "Dumbledore convinced him of my innocence, and he made me a new wand, secretly, some months ago."

            Airelle looked at him sideways.  "How could Dumbledore—"

            "You'll hear of that later.  I'm going to need a wand, if I am to be part of the Order.  Ollivander is part of it, too."

            "Order?  What order?"

            "The Order of the Phoenix," said Black, lowering his voice to stop even the tall trees around them from overhearing.  "Dumbledore is restoring it to fight Voldemort's forces."

            Airelle stared at the floor, and bit her lip.  The Order of the Phoenix had last been assembled to fight the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945.  It had been disbanded shortly after Grindelwald's defeat, because the Ministry felt it could hold things together on its own.

            "That's why Lupin is here again," she said, still looking at the ground.  "To help with this."

            "That's right.  Hagrid and Madame Maxime went as envoys to the giants in the North, to enlist their help before Voldemort could.  We are sending them to position themselves close to the island of Azkaban… so that when Voldemort comes to free the prisoners within, we'll be ready."

            "And the others?"

            "I was in Hogsmeade to converse with Remus Lupin and help protect Harry in case anything happened," he replied.  "Remus had just arrived to the Shrieking Shack, where Hermione had been treating me for my injuries for a month, to take me to London, where Dumbledore was assembling most of the Order in a secret location."

            Airelle looked up.  "So Dumbledore is not in London because he wants to talk to Fudge?"

            Sirius scowled.  "Fudge is a blind fool, and will not listen to reason even if there's a Dark Mark hovering right in front of him.  That's why Dumbledore wants to reinstate the Order.  The Ministry will not be ready for Voldemort, but at least we will."

            "But why were you still in the Shrieking Shack?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.  "Why didn't you go to London as Lupin asked?"

            "Harry came in then, frantic," said Black gloomily.  "He said he thought Neville was the Death Eater, and had followed you and Snape to wherever you were going.  Remus was worried, naturally, and wanted to go to Dumbledore for help.  But an owl came with word that you and Snape had returned to Hogwarts suddenly."

            "And then," said Airelle, "you sent Harry back to the school in order to alert McGonagall and the teachers."

            "Right.  But my godson, rash as he is, went to the dungeons first."

            Airelle shivered.  She did not even want to think about what might have happened if she hadn't killed Noah--- and Harry would have walked in right at that moment.  How he knew about the secret entrance to the room was beyond her.  Perhaps he'd overheard her conversation with Snape that night—but she hadn't seen anybody—then again, perhaps he had an Invisibility Cloak…

            Shaking her head, she glanced around at the forest.  It was almost pitch black now, and moonlight sliced through the canopy like blades.  Shadows crept along the grass, and she did not like it.

            Her next sentences were quick.  "That clears up some things.  But how did you know I was going here?"

            Sirius almost laughed at that.  "I confess," he said, "I did not follow your advice to stay put, and a good thing that was.  Harry and I arrived to your street much the same way you did, and came across Remus and Hermione paralyzed.  I knew what had happened, and followed you at once.  I heard you say the spell to take you here, and decided to pay a visit there as well without the Death Eaters' knowledge."

            "What about Harry?"

            "I left him to help Remus and Hermione, and then told him to accompany them to Dumbledore.  They'll be safe with him."

            Airelle nodded.  "Good.  Well… go back to Dumbledore and get some more help.  I must, however, remain here."

            "Wait a minute!" exclaimed Black as she started to walk away from him, towards the direction the Death Eater had pointed out earlier.  "Why?"

            "Voldemort is expecting me, and me alone," she replied impatiently, not stopping.  "If he realizes there are two of us, he might think there are more coming, and he will kill Snape and the others immediately.  I cannot risk that."

            "You're being foolish," said Black from behind her, and she could hear his footsteps hurrying to catch up.  "You will get yourself killed, Airelle--- think about it."

            "You can do what you want, Black," she snapped, plowing through the underbrush like a rampaging tank.  "But I cannot leave this place until I have at least tried to help Sna--"  Her voice cut off; that was twice she'd mentioned him.  There was a thick silence, during which the only audible thing was the crunching of leaves beneath Airelle's feet and the twittering of nocturnal birds far above.  She was not even certain Sirius Black was following her anymore.

            But he was.

            "Just WHY are you so bent on rescuing Snape anyway?" she heard him say, and there was something in his voice that made her wary.  "All the time that we had that chat in the Shrieking Shack, you referred to the prisoners as 'Snape and the others.'"

            "What, you'd like me to list their names?" she asked, stopping dead in her tracks and turning to look at him.  A thin stream of moonlight cut a deep gash across her pale face, illuminating her bruised eye and making her seem unearthly and unnatural.

            Sirius Black just stared at her, unmoving, for a full five seconds.  And then, a realization of sorts dawned over his face.

            "You slept with him, didn't you?" he asked, his dark eyes going wide under his tangled black hair.

            Whatever Airelle had expected out of him, that wasn't it.  "WHAT?" she mouthed, rooted to her spot in shock.  "I beg your pardon!?"

            Black, however, was not only undeterred by her response, but actually encouraged.  "You DID!" he exclaimed, walking toward her.

            "Why, you—I would never—"

            "But you did," he interrupted, and a look of mingled wonder and disgust settled on his face.  "I see it!  I can't believe it… oh…it's horrible—but I see it in your eyes, clear as daylight."

            She stared at him, and knew at once that any attempt to deny it further was in vain.  Sirius Black was well-versed in these sorts of things, and knew them when he saw them.  She crunched back the way she'd come, until her face was almost pressed up to his in the darkness.

            "That must never be uttered," she hissed, her gaze dark and flashing.  "It is a matter between Snape and myself… but if anyone discovers it, our lives will be in jeopardy."  By that, of course, she meant Voldemort—but it would not be pleasant if someone in Hogwarts other than Dumbledore found out…

            Sirius raised his arms in mock defense.  "Relax, Ms. Vilka, your secret is safe with me," he assured her, though a small twinkle in his eye made Airelle feel like she was sitting on tacks.  She knew that Black was as good as his word to his friends back in his younger days, and could only hope that he'd apply his moral obligations to a former enemy.  Otherwise--- well, otherwise, she'd have to roast him alive on a spit if he breathed a word of this to anyone.

            In the midst of this, she'd almost forgotten what she was here for.  When she remembered, she turned towards the gloom again.  "I must go."

            Black, of course, protested yet again.  "You can't!  We should wait for the Ministry, or for Dumbledore--"

            "See here," she interjected, giving him her very best scowl, "I'm going, with or without you.  You just _try_ and stop me."

            Airelle then turned smartly on her heels and marched off.  In the distance, she could hear Sirius grumbling something about heroes and suicidal maniacs.  But in the end, he followed her anyway.

~*~

            It was not long before they came to a large, whitewashed gate.  It belonged to a large, long, manor-like house, which stood near a gravel road at the edge of the forest.  It looked old and unoccupied from without, and the windows were like black holes in its surface.  It was so quiet that the crickets could be heard in the grass, and there was no other house for miles around.

            She glanced around for an ambush, and then eyed the sign on the gate.

            "Old Aberdeenshire Museum," it read in slightly peeled letters.

            "Are you certain this is the right place?" whispered Black from underneath his newly acquired Death Eater hood.

            "Positive," said Airelle.  "It is making sense now—our cell—half of its floor was modern, and the other half was our cage.  It was a dungeon exhibit or something of that nature.  And look--- it says, 'Closed Weeks of April 10 - May 2 for Decoration of the new Marble and Wood Carvings Exhibit.'  That's why the Ministry can't find Voldemort's followers--- they're using a Muggle edifice for their hideout!"

            "So what do we do now?" he asked.  "Go back and rendezvous with Dumbledore once he arrives?"

            "Are you mad?  Voldemort will find it a tad suspicious if we turn back now, at the front gate!  No, we must stall as long as possible.  Come on…"

            They opened the gate with a creak, and Airelle led the way to the front porch.  Luckily, the Death Eater whose hood she'd 'borrowed' had been short, so the robes did not drag behind her, but billowed rather nicely.

            Mounting the steps, Airelle and Sirius gazed at the front door.  There was no time-schedule, and no one in sight.  The caretaker, if there was one, was long dead already.

            And just when she had begun to wonder if they'd come to the right place at all, a trapdoor opened in the front porch--- and with hardly a sound, they hurtled down into the dark space below.

To be continued…

A/N: Forgive my lack of knowledge of Scotland.  I just thought there'd be a museum there.  Hey, I know there's lots of cool castles, so I figured, hey, why not have a manor that has been turned into a museum? :)


	29. Through the Trapdoor

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

A/N: Whee!  It's been nearly a whole year since I began this fic!  True novel length – and it is still not complete!  Enjoy, and I wish happiness to all!  (As you can tell, it's Friday and I am deliriously happy to be off school and work.)

A/N #2: Number of times this chapter has been re-written—2.  (Well, at least it's better off than Chapter 28—I rewrote that thing 5 times! :))

Chapter 29 ~ Through the Trapdoor

            They did not fall a long way; rather, it was only a few meters below that Airelle landed with a soft _thud_ on the floor.  It was not painful; someone had put a Cushion Charm to absorb the impact.  However—

            A dark mass of limbs and robes suddenly landed on top of her, slamming her head into the ground and nearly cracking it in twain.

            "Ohh," came a groan from above her, "I _know_ I twisted something…"

            "Black!" she hissed when her ears finally stopped ringing.  "Crikey—get off, you—"

            Her sentence remained unfinished, perhaps for the better.  There was a sudden shuffle, and in the darkness, Sirius Black gripped her arm warningly.

            "Look ahead," he whispered, and Airelle swiveled her head to where he had indicated.

            They were in a corridor of sorts, with total darkness closer to Black's side, and a light at Airelle's.  The said light was reddish-yellow, which meant torches or magic candles.  Aside from the short vertical tunnel in the ceiling leading to the trapdoor (which had closed), there was nothing of importance in the corridor itself.  It had probably been a part of the lower floors when the place was still a manor; but now, as this was a museum, the corridor was likely used for storage purposes.  Airelle squinted into the dark end, and decided to take her chances with the light.

            "C'mon," she said quietly, extricating her feet from Black's cloak and pulling her Death Eater hood up.  She held her wand under her robe, and bid him follow her towards the end of the hallway.  Only silence served as their escort; there came none of the sounds of debauchery that usually accompanied a Dark gathering.  Then again, Voldemort's presence, or impending presence, usually meant order in the ranks…

            A small question suddenly pestered her again --- was this a trap, and if so, why hadn't anyone seized them yet?

            Airelle decided to leave the matter alone until they reached the light.  But unfortunately for her, she never got the chance.

            A pair of figures emerged like shadows from the end of the corridor, and it took all of Airelle's willpower not to stop walking.  Her hand left Black's sleeve and she stiffened her step to a rigid march; there was no way to go but forward, and she'd come too far to give herself away now.  Her breath slowed, though her heart seemed to be trying very hard to fulfill its threat to burst.  She began to sweat under the hood; if they discovered her, it meant instant death --- or worse.

            The pair of Death Eaters (for of course, they both wore garments identical to Airelle's) stopped in front of her and Sirius, but made no move for their wands.  Apparently, the trapdoor was a regular entrance for them, which explained the Cushion Charm.  Otherwise, there would have been suspicions concerning how two people had ended up in a corridor below street level…

            One of the Death Eaters shifted his hood slightly from side to side, which meant he was surveying them both carefully.  Airelle's throat constricted.

            "Do you have the Auror?" he finally asked in a voice that sounded raspy, as if he'd been struck with a severe case of laryngitis.  Airelle thought hard.  If she replied in the affirmative, he'd demand proof, and if not, he'd demand an explanation.  Neither sounded pleasing.

            She decided to stall, and used her deepest voice to sound male.  Luckily, the thrashing her neck had received at the hands of the Death Eater in the woods had left her voice throaty and fluctuating even now.  She could have tried her normal tone, but it was too dangerous; Voldemort did not have many female Death Eaters in his fold, she'd guessed.

            "I was not aware that I should report to you," she said slowly, her hand clenching her wand so tightly it could have cut off blood flow.

            The Death Eater and his shorter companion did not even twitch at this proclamation.  But Airelle knew better, and regretted uttering such words of challenge.  Anything could be grounds for a wizarding duel, and somehow, Airelle regarded the prospect of sparring with a Death Eater as less than stimulating.

            A moment later, she wished he had taken the bait.  His next sentence drove an iron wedge into her skull and stuck there, like the ill-fated Laocoön's spear.

            "Whom do you serve?"

            Airelle recognized the greeting at once – it was a test, to see if she really was who she said she was.  Only a follower of Lord Voldemort knew the precise answer, and not to reply would be disastrous.  There existed several such codes, and the Ministry knew the replies to many of them; but Fudge, in his blunt conviction that the Dark Lord was truly gone, did not promote the project of discovering new Death Eater greetings.  Airelle scowled under her hood and prepared to strike quietly.

            But before she could even think of a useful curse, Sirius Black suddenly spoke from behind her, the echo of his voice monotonous and dull on the walls.

            "We serve one master alone, purveyor of the eternal Mark," he said, "and the one who lays all claim on us."

            Airelle's shock was barely present when it was sliced by the Death Eater's immediate response.  "And who is your Mistress?"

            Once again, Sirius was ready.  "Our Mistress is Power herself; our hands act on her behalf."

            The Death Eater did not reply, but from his body language, the inference was obvious – they had passed the test.  Airelle's insides melted back in a welcomed rush.

            "The Dark Lord shall expect a report from you in the antechamber," said the short Death Eater, walking past them.  "We'll fetch the prisoners… he has something in store for them…"

            They headed off, without a single backward glance, to the other end of the corridor away from the light; Airelle stared, thunderstruck and unblinking, and almost forgetting that Sirius had just saved her bum.

            "Prisoners," she whispered when the figures had vanished from view.  "They're here--- we must follow."

            Sirius didn't answer, and Airelle turned.  He was walking towards the lit end of the hallway cautiously, examining the walls and looking for passages.  Airelle gazed after him, and suddenly remembered.

            "How'd you know?" she asked in barely more than a murmur under the hood.  She could not see his face, but knew he'd heard her; even out of canine form, Black's auditory senses were heightened in times of stress.

            "Azkaban," he whispered back, touching the wall.  "My fellow inmates, the Lestranges, often said things in their sleep… I escaped with more than a few secrets."

            Airelle mentally thanked every higher power in existence for providing her with a fugitive at this moment.  She definitely owed Sirius Black one; Snape would be furious to learn this – that is, if they all made it out alive and intact tonight.

            She paused in her step, and again looked back the way the Death Eaters had gone.  What to do?  If she attempted a rescue, they might still escape through the trapdoor unnoticed… but then again, Voldemort was expecting someone to show up and describe the events in the woods.  And if he suspected anything ---

            Clenching her teeth, she gripped the wall as if it would support her.  Her black eyes roamed over a crack in it, under a small cobweb hanging on the ceiling, but it told her nothing.

            _Which way…?_

            "It is too quiet," said Black suddenly and very quietly, tightening his cloak closer to himself.  "I think they know."

            Airelle's head snapped towards him as if she'd been burned.  "So why didn't they take us now?  What're they waiting for?"

            "Never trust the Greeks bearing gifts," he muttered, and she had to smile.  They were certainly walking headlong into something stupid – and, worst of all, walking into it willingly.

            But she had to try.

            "Let's move," she said, snatching her suicidal tendencies out of the air and striding back to the dark side of the corridor.  They had wavered too long already, and now every second counted.

            Sirius did not follow this time, and Airelle turned, her puzzled and impatient face concealed by the hood.

            "Well?" she asked softly.  Black merely stood there, and she understood his position.  He'd gone this far, but here was their last chance at a safe escape.  All they had to do was open the trapdoor, run their way back into the forest, and Apparate to London.  It was practical --- and yet, Airelle found her feet glued to the floor.  Black did not understand what facing Death Eaters once more meant to her… it was her job, her destiny, and to ignore it was completely pointless.  Something inside her said, _If you leave now, and close the eyes to your duty, Voldemort will know… and he'll kill your friends.  What did you come here for, then?_

            Airelle stood there, and wanted to apologize for bringing Sirius this far.  She'd been meant to come here alone, on Voldemort's instructions, to witness things not every wizard could handle.  But now, Black just had to follow her here, and she'd let him.  He, with his Gryffindor bravery, would get himself killed, and Airelle could not handle the prospect, not ever again…

            _She felt cold and sick at Elsa Gibbon's funeral.  Her feet had dragged behind the coffin all the way to the cemetery on a gray Saturday morning, along with dozens of sunken-faced, hollow-eyed Aurors.  As the squad leader, Airelle had the privilege of supporting the back of the coffin with Omar Fauks and the other ushers – a privilege she felt unworthy of possessing.  It was no use denying the looks of distaste some of those assembled Aurors had thrown at her back.  Elsa was the second to die this month, a statistic topped only in Voldemort's time.  It should not have occurred now, after the Dark Lord's fall, with his followers largely scattered and desperate ---_

_            Desperate.  That word ate deep into Airelle's brooding, tainted conscience and festered malevolently.  All it had taken was one slipshod move, one hasty decision – and Elsa, the tiny, bespectacled, studious girl who'd saved the squad by Apparating for help in a clearing years ago, had paid the ultimate price._

_            Airelle cringed throughout the final rites over the coffin, and all throughout its final journey to the nook two meters below ground level.  The last of the roses left on top were quickly covered with earth, spattering the lily-white lid with brown.  Most of the guests had turned away and left soon afterwards.  Airelle, however, stayed put, watching the gravediggers pat the ground down gently, and suddenly thought how good it was for Elsa to be buried with her glasses and her wand.  After all, she'd need them to know where she was going---_

_            Someplace, a clock struck noon, and a cold breeze wafted through the grass.  The gravediggers left Airelle alone with the piles upon piles of funeral flowers at the headstone; but she would not be by herself for long._

_            An enormous, friendly hand descended on her shoulder, and she fought every instinct in her body – fought not to break down and cry like a child._

_            "I saw off her parents just now," said Omar Fauks from above her, and Airelle did not need to look up to know he was scrutinizing her carefully._

_            Her lungs heaved a sigh without her permission.  She did not even want to remember that Elsa's family consisted entirely of Muggles… just like her family…_

_            "Two of my charges dead," she whispered, but it was more of a sickened hurl in the face of the world rather than anything else.  "First Edgar Bannett, and now this."_

_            Omar's hand stroked her back protectively.  "They died heroes," he said quietly._

_            "Valiancy will only keep one alive for so long in this trade," she replied scathingly, staring at Elsa's epitaph.  "Heroes or not, Omar, I have failed them.  And I'll answer for it at one point in my life."_

_            "There was nothing you could have done."_

_            She suddenly found her voice rising uncontrollably, and clenched her hand over the bouquet she was holding.  "I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE!  I COULD HAVE PROTECTED THEM!" she bellowed up at him, her dark eyes shining with fury and her chest heaving._

_            Omar merely looked at her, and the kindness in his handsome, noble face was strong enough to melt ice.  Airelle stared at him for only another second before turning away in embarrassment and grief._

_            "Forgive me," she murmured hastily, choking back a sob.  "It's not… you aren't…"_

_            "Elsa would be honored," he said gently as Airelle knelt by the grave yet again, "to be immortalized by such a cause."_

_            "But no one deserved to die this way," she answered, and the truth was clear in her voice.  "You were not there, Omar, when Elsa'd been brought to St. Mungo's, still alive.  You didn't see—" A shudder passed through her, reopening a wound that had just begun to heal.  "—what he… what they had done to her.  But I did."_

_            There was a rustle of robes, and her fellow Auror joined her on the damp grass.  "All the more reason why," he began sternly, "you should not let this drag you to the bottomless pit.  Everyone makes mistakes, sometimes fatal ones… but if we do not learn from them and pass on that knowledge, then our suffering is worthless."_

_            Airelle closed her eyes and inhaled the pungent scent of the flowers, as if sneezing would purge her of guilt.  It did not work._

_            "Use your experience," came Omar's voice from her left.  "You are still squad leader, and they need you."_

_            That thought only made Airelle more miserable; but she bit back the stubborn tears and looked at her friend firmly._

_            "One thing is certain," she voiced her thoughts, not even realizing he could hear her.  "Someone died for my sake.  Whatever happens now and in the future… there is nothing in this universe that will make me forget that.  Nothing."_

            She did not apologize.  Instead, she just turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the tall figure of Sirius Black outlined starkly in the dim light from the corridor.  He still did not follow, and Airelle merely hoped he'd have enough sense to leave quietly and not return.

~*~

            She did not even know her feet had acted independently of her brain and were propelling her forward until she found herself a good deal into the darkness.  Her footsteps on the floor had altered from dull clunks to silence.  This was an older part of the manor, and apparently recently opened as a storage basement of sorts – and it was larger than Airelle had hoped or expected.  It seemed that this Muggle building had more of a history than what was on the tour…

            Her fingers groped the wall in the dark as a tentative guide, but she was afraid to light her wand.  Those Death Eaters probably knew the way by heart, and to announce her presence was less than prudent.

            Then again, the idea of getting lost in the passages was not appealing, either…

            What would be waiting for her out there?  Her mind flew to Snape yet again, to what his face looked like when Noah led her out of the cell hours earlier.  It was the one time she'd seen his eyes actually plead.  _Don't come back._

            But she had to.  It sounded foolish, even to her, but she could not do what Snape had done on Graduation Night.  She could not abandon a friend.

            Not to mention Neville and the others… no, they needed her help now, more than ever… no matter how much Snape tried to deny it.

            Something wet and slippery stuck to the sole of her boot, and she attempted to shake it off in disgust.  It landed on the stone floor with a _plop_, and it took Airelle some time to register that it had actually _scurried_ off.

            She immediately froze and paled.  _What the bloody heck was that?…_

            And then, she began to become aware of sounds around her, too many for only one thing to produce.  And these sounds were on the floor, the walls… scattering on the ceiling…

            "Shit," she said elegantly and with feeling.

            A pair of yellowish, bulbous eyes suddenly peeled open and stared at her from the shadows ahead.  It took just two blinks of those eyes to send Airelle's heart into the pit of her stomach; she recognized them.

            "Expecto Patronum!" she roared, completely forgetting there were wary Death Eaters close by.  "Expecto Patronum!"

            A bright white light exploded from the tip of her wand, nearly blinding her; it took a shape and charged toward the eyes in a silver blur.  There was a corrosive, inhuman shriek, and the eyes vanished as suddenly as they'd appeared.  Airelle flung herself against the nearby wall, breathing raggedly.  If she hadn't been put on alert by stepping on one of them, the Dark magic these creatures used to lure their victims would have---

            She swallowed hard and listened for anything, any indication of further danger.  But only silence reigned down the passage, which aroused a query… just how far had she ventured?

            Airelle stayed put for some minutes before continuing to walk.  Her stomach growled loudly in its desire for some warm Yorkshire pudding; she had not eaten for hours, and the stress had taken its toll.  Still, she hoped food would be her only concern after this night was over…

            Her feet rounded a corner, and came across the entrance to two more corridors.  One sloped, sweeping sharply to the right, and the other diagonally to the left; and the split was illuminated by a single magical torch stuck in a bracket on the wall.  For the first time, Airelle shivered and saw her breath rise in a mist before her hood.  The air here reeked of mold and pneumonia.

            She swiveled, peering from right to left and back again, tried to orient herself, and failed.  Finally making a quick and desperate choice, she lit her wand (if no one had been alerted by the noise, the light would hardly do more damage) and headed off through the passage on her right.

            It was slightly warmer here, and more humid, as if she were nearing a furnace of sorts.  Her eyes were adjusting slowly as well, which spoke of the presence of a very slight Illuminata Charm.  Airelle's nostrils flared in anticipation and she willed her step to soften.  Even after years of watching Snape, it was easy for her --- though heaven knew, he had been demanding in teaching her liquidity of movement…

            Airelle scowled at herself inside the private courtroom of her hood as she reached yet another corner.  Beyond it, a dim light threw itself onto the floor.  She waited, listening for sounds, and found them --- subdued whispering, and a few pained moans.  Finally, the ex-Auror's eagerness seized the better of her judgment, and she craned her neck slightly around the corner.  An odd sight greeted her.

            A row of doors lined the wall at her right, not far apart from one another, but a good distance.  Upon closer inspection, Airelle saw that they all sported eye slots and enormous locks with no keyholes.  Broken slabs of marble littered the floor – but apart from that, nothing else looked out of place.  It suddenly came to Airelle that perhaps this mansion had not belonged to Muggles in its olden time.  This part of it must have been the real dungeons, as if was common for old families to possess at least one underground cell… and any Muggle would've noticed the foul creatures whose eyes she'd seen in the dark some time ago.  They only inhabited places where magic was once present; this meant the manor had been the property of some wizarding family and perhaps taken over by Muggles… but an old family would only abandon its home due to illness, death, or… if one of their own were disgraced permanently.

            Could this, then, have been the house of a Dark wizard or witch?…

            Her thoughts were interrupted by a smothered _thud_, as that of a body falling to the floor, and a small groan.  Airelle's eyes swept across the corridor, but there was no one to meet them.  What lay beyond the row of doors, she could not see; the hallway turned left again and led off into darkness.

            Airelle wanted to step around her corner and head to the cells, but her paranoia stopped her foot in mid-air, letting it hover over the stone.  A perplexed look crossed her face before she decided to follow standard Auror procedure.

            "Videre malumrem!" she whispered softly, pointing her wand toward the hallway floor.  It began to glow blue-green, then a bright red; and Airelle sensed trouble.  There were several Warding Hexes here, and though she could not know what triggered them, her wand told her their general location.

            "Exite a Domine!"  Though it was not the usual way for Dark Wizards to end a spell (they employed a more potent charm), it worked here nonetheless, and Airelle's wand glowed a steady blue-green.  It was only then that she walked toward the door, jumping over carelessly placed marble, and looked inside the eye-slot.

            It was her cell, all right; and thankfully, all its occupants were still inside, with no sign of the Death Eaters she'd seen earlier.  Looking at the room from the other angle, Airelle saw that it was genuine and not a tourist attraction in the museum, as she had guessed.  The bars had been placed in the middle on purpose, to divide the cell into a holding pen and an interrogation – torture – room.  Her insides shuddered at that last thought involuntarily, and she cursed herself for the reaction.  Even after years of practice, she still could not---

            Airelle suddenly realized she was staring at the prisoners without really seeing them.  Her gaze focused, and settled on a face she had desperately hoped to see again --- Snape.  He sat in a corner, looking grim and deathly pale, even more so than she'd remembered.  Alica, who looked just as unnerved, attempted to hand him Airelle's cloak, which she'd left behind in the cell; but he shook his head negatively.  Tracy and Ron were on the other end, trying to comfort Neville Longbottom, who sat directly opposite Snape, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.  That alone made Airelle's heart burn with rage.  She was going to beat every Death Eater she met into a bloody pulp…

            Looking about yet again to ascertain that no one was coming, she touched the lock with her wand and said, "Alohomora!"

            There was a click, but the lock didn't move.  Airelle pursed her lips and decided to try a stronger spell, used primarily by Death Eaters and Aurors---

            "Abrete!" Another click, and the lock bounced off as though on springs.  She walked inside, swinging the door so hard it nearly ripped off its ironwork hinges.

            All five of them had jumped, startled by her sudden presence and confused by the hasty manner in which she approached the bars separating them.  Snape especially, wiping his bleeding lip with his sleeve, came closer.  His dark eyes were narrowed to slits.

            Airelle suddenly discovered her own idiocy – she was still wearing the hood.

            "You're still alive," she breathed, lowering it hastily and gripping the bars.  "What have they done?"

            But before any of the students even had time to gasp in shock, Snape did something very peculiar.  His hands lashed out like whips through the bars, fastening themselves around her neck and pushing her painfully against him.

            "Who are you?" he murmured silkily, but his voice was like ice.

            Airelle grabbed his wrists, much like she'd done with the Death Eater in the woods, and stared into his eyes numbly.  "Snape… I…"

            Vaguely out of the corner of her vision, she saw Ron charge toward the bars, his face livid with anger.  "What're you doi---"

            "Silence, Weasley," snapped Snape brutally, without taking his eyes off Airelle.  His fingers, as cold as his voice, tightened considerably.

            "Answer or I will kill you where you stand," he said more clearly, and Airelle knew he thought she was a Death Eater in disguise.  It was a common ruse to coax information from desperate prisoners.

            "Severus," she gasped, "it's Airelle…"

            The fingers loosened, just a little.  "Then tell me what you gave me as a gift on Christmas."

            She felt her vision blur, but only slightly; Snape knew his techniques.  "The… candle-holder," she choked out, and forced herself to go limp in his arms.  The effect was immediate – Snape's eyes softened and he released her; but a moment later, his expression grew stern.

            "Airelle," he said as she clutched her throat, trying to catch her breath, "I say this with the best of intentions, but you are the biggest idiot I have ever laid eyes on."

            "I'm glad to see you, too," she replied, raising her wand as the students stared at her with a mix of incredulity and horror.  "Alohomora!"

            This lock was weak, and gave way to the spell at once.  Snape was the first to exit, wincing with every other step.  Airelle glanced back to the door, but there was only darkness and silence.  Something about this bothered her; the Death Eaters had spoken of "fetching the prisoners," and yet were nowhere to be seen.  Had they perhaps spoken of someone else incarcerated here?

            Meanwhile, Alica had regained her senses and asked, "How'd you get back here, Professor?"

            "Voldemort had me summoned," she replied quickly, looking toward the door again.  Immediately, she felt Snape's eyes swoop on her.

            "He wants the potion."  It was a statement, not a question.

            Airelle nodded flatly, seeing it was no use lying to someone who knew her so well.  "I killed Noah and took the recipe… they burned my apartment to send me a message…"

            "Blimey," said Ron in the quiet that followed this revelation.

            "Do you know the way out?" asked Snape.  He did not look pleased with the situation, especially if Voldemort was expecting Airelle; but she supposed her friend would take any chance to get out, no matter how small.

            Her heart was beginning to somersault in panic.  "Yes… there's a trapdoor--- but I'll explain later…"  She practically ran to the doorway, and motioned for them to hurry.  "We must leave now, before anyone discovers us—"

            "Good idea," said Tracy, grabbing Neville by the sleeve and yanking him off the floor as Airelle and Snape stepped out of the room, nearly tripping on the slabs of marble.

            "The way back is left, right, left," she was saying, still painfully aware of his disapproving gaze.  Snape would never admit he'd wanted her to return; and perhaps that notion was better for both their sanities…

            That was her last thought before she heard the growl.

            "Snape," she murmured, her heard skipping several beats, "is it just me, or was that—"

            "No," he said slowly as Ron and Alica made their way out the door after them, puzzled by the sudden delay, "it isn't you."

            Airelle followed his gaze to the left of the hallway, where she'd just come from.  A moment later, she wished she hadn't.

            A shape filled the corridor from floor to ceiling, and filled it so silently they hadn't even noticed it until now.  But as soon as it moved, the recesses of Airelle's brain, which had studied rare creatures in the Auror texts, recognized it.  Her heart shriveled like a dried fig.

            "Run," was all she said.

To Be Continued…


	30. Rendezvous

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

A/N: Well, here it is, after a long delay.  Eviscerate me later.  :)  Chapter 31 should follow shortly, considering the significant cliffhanger in this chapter.  Enjoy, moyi dorogie (my dears).

Chapter 30 ~ Rendezvous

            How long ago had they started running?  Two, seven, fifteen seconds?  All Airelle could see was stone, endless walls of gray stone, illuminated only by the faint glow of a dying spell cast in the tunnel some time ago.  Who had done it?  The Death Eaters she had seen earlier?  Someone else who passed this way?  She didn't think at this time—she just ran.

            _Run, run quickly--- get out--- but we don't know where this leads--- this is not the way we came--- doesn't matter, just run, run, run---- as far away from that creature as possible----run, move your feet, don't think----_

            That would not be the case.  A cry reached her ears, a soft one, almost a whimper reverberating off the walls behind them.

            "Help…"

            She skidded to a halt and stopped dead.  Just who had followed her?

            Severus Snape had to twist himself like a cobra to avoid crashing into her.  "What are you doing?" he hissed.  "Move!"

            But Airelle wasn't listening.  Instead, she peered into the shadows they'd left, and counted.

            Herself, Snape, Alica, Ron…  No.   Two were missing.

            Her breath was torn into gasps, and when she spoke, her voice was a whisper.  "I must go back."

            Snape's long fingers clamped around the fabric of her robes.  "Are you mad?  They're probably dead by now--- and you can't fight that monster yourself, with just one wand!"

            She stared at him, into his flashing black eyes, to see if he was actually serious.

            He was.

            "Then come with me," she said plainly.

            Snape shook his head.  "We still have a chance of leaving alive—"

            Airelle wrenched her sleeve away from him and headed back up the passage, past a bewildered Ron and Alica at his heels.  "I won't go without them.  Not when I can still help."

            "Right," he spat after her, "go and be brave, and be an idiot at that!"

            That made Airelle turn.  If she hadn't been terrified for both their lives, she would have been greatly angered by the comment.

            "I came here for all of you," she said quietly.  "Not just you, Severus."

            Snape looked livid, but Airelle kept speaking.  "Please… take them---" --- her hand pointed at the two students--- "---get them out of here."

            _Yes, I realize that if I go back, I may never escape in time.  I know, I know.  I'm a complete fool._

_            But I cannot leave.  I can't._

            "Good luck," she mouthed, and without a word, ran back the way she'd come, back into whatever was waiting there, crouched in the darkness.

            He did not follow her.

~*~

            The air suddenly became very quiet.  Airelle's eyes darted to and fro across the walls, searching for any movement.  Her fingers danced nervously around her wand, and she wondered if it would work against the creature she had seen.

            Perhaps… or not?

            _Crack._  Her feet had stepped on something—but she decided not to look.  Her focus was on the doorway in front of her.  An acrid smell was emanating from it, but there were no noises coming from inside.  Had she arrived too late?  Or was it a trap?

            Willing herself to slow her heartbeat, Airelle went to the edge of the doorway and waited a full minute.  Nothing.

            Her shoulders automatically expanded and rose; her back straightened--- and suddenly, she looked two inches taller.  It was an unconscious response to danger in her body; she'd try to make herself look bigger for intimidation--- an animal instinct, really, that had retained itself in her.  Whatever it was, it helped; Airelle suddenly felt lighter and more determined.  Either that, or it was just the adrenaline doing its work.

            Cautiously, she peered out into the room.  The door to the cell was ajar, and broken slabs of stone lay on the floor as before, but there was no sign of Neville, Tracy, or---

            "So you've returned."

            She jumped and pointed her wand towards the shadows across the room.  Two blue slits were staring unblinkingly at her from the other doorway.

            "Don't bother, girl.  I am impenetrable to your type of magic."

            Airelle gritted her teeth, but did not lower her wand.  Inside, she wondered if she could draw a pentagram inside a protective circle fast enough, before the demon crossed the room and ripped her to shreds.  Probably not.

            Thus, she decided to stall.

            "What do you want?"

            A sudden heat blew into her face, as though an oven door had opened—but there was no wind.  "You, of course," said the voice, and the two blue slits narrowed ever so slightly.  "I could have killed you sooner, but it gives me great amusement to see you return for your precious little children."

            Her fist tightened around her wand, though it was useless.  "Where are they?"

            "Come here," said the voice, ignoring her question.

            If only she could remember the correct incantation to banish it--- but would it work, if she hadn't summoned it in the first place?

            _Oh, hell._

            "Not until I know they're alive."

            It laughed in the darkness, harshly, as if it wasn't used to speaking at all--- then again, it probably wasn't.  Airelle realized she had little to work with, and had to work fast with it---- the thing was probably draining Neville and Tracy as it spoke.

            "All right," she said, heaving a sigh.  "Your terms."

            And she walked forward.  One, two steps… it was still eerily quiet, and the blue slits watched her stonily.  Blood rushed to her head—she only had one chance for this…

            Her feet hit a slab of stone, and Airelle tripped--- and looked down to steady herself.

            And as she did, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow come---

            "Expecto Patronum!" she yelled, whirling around and raising her wand high above her.

The action had saved her life.  There was a blinding flash of light, and something enormous and black leapt down from the ceiling.  The floor rattled, and the blast was so large that it lifted Airelle off her feet and slammed her into the opposite wall.  Miraculously, she found her wand still tight in her fingers as her Patronus cleared and evaporated.  Out of the smoke came the demon, its head touching the ceiling and its blue eyes burning with rage.

            The other eyes had been a ruse—it was behind her all the time, waiting to strike at the first opportunity.  The Patronus might have curbed the attack, but it was not enough to protect her now.  Without a circle or the correct banishing incantation --- which in this case could be anything --- she would die.

            Airelle backed against the wall in a crawl, and found she had nowhere else to go.  The demon advanced quickly, its hooves pounding the pavement.  It would have been fascinating to study, if it wasn't going to kill her --- a classic example of an Empusa, straight from the underworld – a long-haired woman with two legs of a donkey replacing what should have been human limbs.  It was only briefly mentioned in Auror texts, being more prevalent in Dark literature – but demons in general were not well known as they, more often than not, tended to kill their invocators.  But what Airelle did know about it was not pleasant.  In mythology, the Empusa lured mortals into dark, deserted places, drank all their blood, and ate their still quivering bodies.  She knew the same fate was going to, if it had not already, meet poor Neville and Tracy---

            Its mouth was stained with fresh redness, and Airelle backed even further into the wall, her brain searching for anything that would help.

            "Avada Kedavra!" she yelled, but the spell ricocheted off the Empusa's face.  It bounced off to another corner of the room, next to the cells, and illuminated the corner----

            And then, in the midst of this, Airelle saw something peculiar.  It looked like a lump of dirty laundry—except it was breathing.  A small pool of blood was forming around it, black against the brief light of the Killing Curse.  But it was breathing—and whimpering.

            They were still alive—it hadn't had a chance to drain them yet.

            "Run!" was all Airelle managed to choke out before the demon's enormous hand fastened around her neck and lifted her straight off the ground, dragging her up the wall.

            At level with the its hairy face and the blue fire burning in it, Airelle suddenly had a recollection of her father lifting her up and spinning her around when she was a little girl----_Don't worry, pumpkin, I won't let you fall--------_

            Her brain had the abrupt realization that she was drifting into a white unconsciousness, and panicked.  Her wand had fallen long ago; all her limbs kicked futilely at the demon, but its arm was too long for her to reach its torso.  The fingers were so hot, Airelle felt like her neck was melting--- and they were pressing so hard… much harder than that Death Eater in the clearing…

            There was a tingle in her toes, and she suddenly wanted to sleep so badly--- after all, it was logical, she hadn't slept in almost 24 hours…

            "Run," she repeated, feeling her fingers slip off the Empusa's long nails.  _Perhaps Snape was right about leaving after all----_

            "UGLY!"

            _Of course this thing's ugly,_ said her barely conscious brain--- before realizing that the voice was not Airelle's.  Then who---

            There was a smack, and the Empusa's head turned.  Its fingers loosened enough to send Airelle's body crashing to the floor.  The impact awakened her, and as her lungs struggled for breath, her eyes went between the demon's legs, to the doorway behind it.  And there stood none other than Severus Snape, holding a slab of stone and looking lethal.

            _Oh, you idiot, _she thought in between breaths, which suddenly seemed so precious.  _You don't have your wand--- do you think you'll stand a chance?_

            Snape's arms reached back--- and the stone hit home, right into the Empusa's head.  It let out a shrill screech and plowed towards him, leaving Airelle to crouch, gasping, on the floor.

            "No!"  She stared around for her wand, but couldn't find it.  Her eyes flew back to Snape; he was in trouble.

            "Run!" he yelled to her, but Airelle wasn't listening.  Some strength that hadn't been spent on her breathing, that had ignored the pain in her ankle when she fell, and the pain in her head, and the pain in her chest---- this strength made her get up and follow the demon in its tracks, to Snape's utter horror.

            "You fool!" he shrieked, backing away into the wall next to the doorway, much like Airelle had done.  "Go back!"

            But she picked up a stone instead and hurled it with all her anger.  It hit, but did no real damage, other than angering the demon further.

            "No!  Get me!" she gasped, flailing her limbs around in hope of making it turn back towards her.  "I'm here!"

            The demon seemed to think it was a good idea--- and before Airelle knew it, its hand swung and backhanded her across the face, nearly breaking her neck and sending her sliding several meters on the floor, shredding her hood on the stone.  When the stars left her eyes, Airelle saw that the Empusa's attention was still fixed on Snape.  Out of instinct, her hand reached, splaying itself on the floor, for the first thing it could grab--- and it was her wand.

            She opened her mouth to utter a spell, anything at all.

            And then came words—except that neither she nor Snape had spoken them.

            Out of the door behind her came a flash of light, red and blue and green, like fireworks--- the Empusa turned---

            "Verbo Domini!  Absumo sceleratum!  Inveho lucem!"

            A wince sliced across the demon's face, and its blue eyes flickered briefly.  Airelle raised herself slightly off the floor and looked behind her, blinking through the blood that trickled down from her forehead.  She'd never heard those charms before in her life----

            "Voco sacra ultrices!" it continued, and a figure stepped into the room, a figure with its hood thrown back, and its gaze gleaming with power.

            Snape's eyes widened to the circumference of good-sized coins, and Airelle couldn't believe her eyes.

            It was Black.  Sirius Black, or both of them were hallucinating.

            "Why are you sitting there?" he shouted, not removing his gaze from the demon, whose eyes were fixed on him.  "Go, get out, while I can still hold it!"

            Airelle's legs snapped to consciousness, and she jumped off the floor.

            "C'mon!"  She threw herself past the demon and punched Snape's arm, pointing towards the two bodies in the corner.  Understanding, he immediately followed and grabbed an unconscious Tracy around the waist, swinging her onto his shoulder easily.  As he disappeared into the doorway where he'd come from, Airelle tried to lift up Neville, but her arm screamed in protest.

            "Go!" said Black, and she looked at him.  Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead—it looked like he was wrestling with an invisible magnet that was trying to push his wand out of alignment with the demon.  "I'll get him!"

            Airelle dragged Neville as far as the door and watched Black slowly progress in a half-circle around the Empusa, sweating profusely now, his eyes almost bulging with the effort.  He was going to explode if he kept this up.

            "Now, Airelle!" he suddenly yelled.  "Disarming Charm!"

            She didn't need to be told twice.  As Black uttered some spell that she didn't hear fully, her voice said, "Expelliarmus!"  The Empusa stumbled and fell, and Black finally lowered his wand, grabbing Neville.

            "Now run!" he yelled, and Airelle took off, knowing that the spell would not hold off the demon for long.  They needed to get out before it got them--- was it dawn yet?  It had been such a long night---

            They ran down the corridor, Snape in the front with the Ravenclaw girl, Airelle limping second and ignoring the screaming pain in her ankle, and Sirius in the rear with Neville under one arm, dripping blood in his wake.  They hadn't gone for even ten seconds when there was an enormous roar behind them that made Airelle's blood freeze.

            "Faster!" yelled Black roughly, and Airelle realized she didn't know where they were going.  What if this tunnel was a dead end?  Snape had sent Ron and Alica alone ahead, and returned for her--- had the two students made it out alive?  And what of Voldemort?

            _Whichever way, to stop or go back is certain death.  So just keep running, keep running…_

            Now footsteps were behind them, and a terrible heat followed them up the corridor, the breath of a furnace.  Airelle slipped on something wet and slammed into the wall to keep her balance—but she didn't even stop.

            _Left, right, right, left, right… just run, run…_

            There were so many doors in the corridor, and other branches--- these tunnels reached far beyond the museum property--- maybe there was something more to this---

            "Stairs!" yelled Snape's voice, and there was a roar behind them, closer than ever before.  A few more seconds, and the demon would be around the corner.

            "Go!" he yelled, stopping at the foot of a rotten wooden staircase.  Airelle didn't argue; she limped past him up the stairs, followed by Black.  She didn't even look back, and ignored her conscience.  There was no Snape anymore, or Airelle, or even the demon.  It was just the steps, and to go up them was her task.  Her brain did not have room for anything else.

            They emerged into a small windowless room—a basement full of barrels and papers, lit by a kerosene lamp hanging in a corner.  There was another staircase with a door at its end, and Airelle and Black ran towards it.  There was a soft light underneath it--- it was dawn.  If only they could make it out, the demon would not follow them.

            She slammed all her weight against the door, but it would not budge.  Someone had shut it from the outside.  But then—how did Ron and Alica escape?  Or had they been captured here?

            "It won't open!" she moaned, banging her fists against the wood, forgetting about her wand and any Unlocking Spells.  She looked back—and there was Snape, emerging from the top of the other staircase.  He froze, and their eyes met for a mere second—but it was enough.

            A long-nailed hand reached up and grabbed the hem of his robes, yanking him towards the bottom.  His hands let go of Tracy, and she toppled onto the floor, her black hair streaming over her face, caked in dark liquid.

            "No!!" Airelle shrieked, and hurtled past Black down the stairs.  She sprinted across the room, and her foot felt like it was being amputated—

            She grabbed his collar as he fell backwards, and it ripped almost completely.  She dug her heels into the floor, and yanked with all her might as Snape lashed out at his attacker with his feet.  But the demon was stronger, and Airelle felt her fingers loosen, more and more…  And wands were useless.

            "Never!" she yelled, and then --- she did something even she hadn't expected.  Before her brain could protest, she leaped forward, hanging herself halfway out of the staircase, and sank her teeth into the demon's wrist.

            There was a horrible howl, and her eardrums rang.  Her mouth tasted bitter--- but it worked.  The Empusa, startled by Airelle's sudden lunge, paused just enough for Snape to rip off his collar completely.  The black robes slid down on the demon's head, blocking its furious maw from their view as Snape scrambled up the stairs and slammed the trapdoor.

            Not even stopping, he grabbed Airelle's wrist with one hand and Tracy with the other, and ran across the room as the Empusa crashed the floor behind them.  Black, who had run back down the stairs to help Airelle, immediately turned again towards the door and yelled, "Alohomora!"

            The locks sprang, and the door flew open.  They were outside before it had even banged off the wall.  As they fell on the dewy April grass, exhausted and wounded, Sirius Black slammed it shut and yelled a hex to seal it.

            It was a full minute before Airelle could actually look up from the ground.  Her initial words were, "Thank you."

            But they stuck in her throat.

            "Congratulations, Auror.  You're better than I thought."

            Her eyes traveled up---up to a pair of dark boots----flowing black robes---- and the crimson, serpentine eyes of Lord Voldemort.

~*~

            Her heart seemed to have forgotten its beat, and a dead silence reigned.  Light slowly began to peek through the trees in the east, at the back of the museum.

            "What an inspiring sunrise," hissed the Dark Lord, and Airelle's blood resumed its flow.  She sprang backwards, landing on her rear in the grass, and pointed her wand straight at his heart.

            "I wouldn't do that," he said calmly, and nodded to his left.  Reluctantly, Airelle followed his gaze and saw why--- two Death Eaters were holding Ron Weasley and Alica Tylon at wand-point.  The others, she assumed, were still behind her, on the ground—though they hadn't uttered a sound.

            Slowly, she let her hand drop.

            "We've been expecting you," said Voldemort.  "Accio wand."

            At once, an invisible force ripped at her hand, and her wand flew into Voldemort's outstretched fingers.  At this point, she began to wonder if facing the demon would have been healthier.

            "I suppose we don't need the spawn now," he continued, twirling Airelle's wand around and around in his hand.  "Kill the youngsters."

            Alica's eyes widened, and Ron's eyes glittered with hate.  Airelle only hoped Neville and Tracy were still unconscious from their wounds.

            The Death Eaters raised their wands to utter the Killing Curse, and Airelle knew she had to save them, somehow.  But how?

            "Wait," she said, swallowing hard and staring right into Voldemort's eyes.  It was by far the scariest thing she had ever seen--- to look at the one wizard responsible for hundreds of deaths, and still more lives left forever in ruins.  Here he was, and he was going to kill her before the sun rose high above them at noon.  But if she was lucky, she could at least save the children from him.  Although it was a very, very petite hope.

            "Wait," she repeated, and Voldemort seemed amused, though his lipless mouth or his lidless eyes showed no hint of it.  She only hoped her guess was right.

            "You are out of your league to speak, Mudblood."

            Pleading with him to spare them would be useless--- he'd kill them immediately.  But what to do?

            "I have something you want… and if you kill them, you'll never get it."

            There was complete quiet for three seconds.  Airelle held her breath.

            "Your gall amuses me greatly," he finally said, raising a hand.  The Death Eaters lowered their wands.  How many of them were there?  Ten?  Fifteen?  More?  Airelle could not tell…

            But their wands were down for now; that was all that mattered.

            "Don't do it, Airelle," whispered Snape's voice from behind her, and she cursed mentally.  He was trying to help her, to divert the Dark Lord's attention to himself.  How could he?

            "Silence, traitor," said Voldemort quietly.  "I only keep you alive so you can watch your precious friend die, after all you did to save her."

            Airelle's fists clenched.  If only he didn't have his wand or his guards--- but then, it would be quite a different story.  Voldemort was in no hurry, and she knew he would enjoy this as much as possible.

            "I suppose you are talking about the little piece of paper that contains the recipe for the Mortis Potion," he said as Airelle rose off the ground, her hair falling down around her hood like a white sheet.

             "If you move, I kill her," he said suddenly, and Airelle realized he was talking to Sirius and Snape without shifting his gaze from her.  It was very unnerving, but she held her ground and stared into his eyes almost unblinkingly.

            "Now, about that little piece of paper," he continued, "which, as it so happens, lies inside your robes as we speak…"

            Airelle's fists sagged.  He knew.  And that was the end of the only hook she might have snagged Voldemort with--- and it was the end of their lives as well.  Perhaps he would keep Snape alive long enough for him to make the potion, and then watch as it destroyed half the world, like it destroyed a third of Europe centuries ago…

_From the notebooks of [name omitted], Paris, 1338:_

_            There is desperation in the city.  Half of the population has died already.  Carts and carts of victims--- the death toll is still rising rapidly.  Our graves are bulging.  People are attempting all sorts of cures--- they forsake bathing, and put perfumes on the sick to prevent the stench of death… there is wailing in the streets.  "Please, come here, I'm thirsty---" moan the dying, and their fathers and mothers do not hear them.  No one knows why some of those who live side by side with the ill are not stricken… ah, if only this would stop… were I not pure-blooded!  Then I could perish too…_

            There was only one way now—death.  And Airelle was not going to make it easy.

            "Give it to me," said Voldemort, and extended his hand once more.

            There was silence again.  And then, she said, "No."

            She could see Ron and Alica's mouths open in shock as they held each other by the hand tightly, as if it would save them from the ring of Death Eaters.  She just looked into their eyes pleadingly, and hoped they'd read her thoughts.

            _Don't look.  You won't handle it.  Please, don't look now—_

            "No?" said Voldemort in a mildly surprised tone, twirling her wand still more in one hand, toying with it and bending the wood so much it was painful to look at the motion.  Airelle just cemented her fear and the pain in her ankle and stared at him, forgetting about everyone else.

            "Which part of 'no' didn't you understand?" she hissed in a voice not her own, her black eyes going icy.  "You want it, Voldemort?  Come and get it yourself."

            Before he could kill her, Airelle continued quickly, "I challenge you… to a wizard's duel."

            There was a muffled protest from behind her, but she ignored it.  There were no other options now.

"You should have taken my servant Noah's advice," he laughed, "and joined us.  You would have lived, you understand.  It's a shame to waste an intellect and audacity like yours on a foolish dream."

            "I'm touched," she replied monotonously.  "Answer my challenge--- will you fight me, or kill me now, an unarmed, defenseless woman?"

            Whether out of pride or entertainment, Voldemort's face contorted into a twisted smile, and threw Airelle's wand towards her feet.  Disregarding the throbbing of her twisted ankle, she bent slowly to lift it, keeping her eyes on him.  Someone moved roughly behind her, and she understood that the Death Eaters were clearing a space for them.  Finally, she saw Snape as he was shoved to the side, and a tall Death Eater pointed a wand at his head.  Sirius Black was somewhat away from him, but both their gazes flickered with anger when they met each other.  Currently, however, Snape's eyes were on Airelle, and she looked away quickly.  It was too much.  She only hoped Voldemort's attention would be distracted enough for him to attempt escape.  But in his position, it was highly unlikely.

            She decided to meet death without bowing, and raised her wand immediately.

            "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

            "EXPELLIARMUS!"

            Voldemort had spoken faster, and Airelle was blasted off her feet, her wand flying off in another direction.  She had uttered the Killing Curse, surmising that Voldemort would do nothing less—but apparently, he wanted to wait.

            She blinked rapidly--- it had been a quick spell, and its power was greater than any she had ever felt.   A mere Disarming Charm from Voldemort felt more potent than the Imperius Curse levied on her by Noah Lieton.  This was bad beyond belief.

            "Still feeling brave, Mudblood?" he asked, gliding closer to her and raising his wand again.  Meanwhile, Severus Snape was shaking in his attempts to restrain himself, but a look from Airelle stopped him altogether.  _"I do not want me to be the cause of your death," remember?_

            "I will enjoy this," came Voldemort's voice, and a spell lashed out at her, slicing deep cuts in her cheek over the previous wound she'd received from the Empusa.  Now Airelle saw red--- the red of Voldemort's eyes, and the red on her hands as she lifted them to protect her face.

            "Pathetic," he said.  "I expected more.  Crucio."

            Suddenly, Airelle's body jerked over itself, doubling her up on the grass, her mouth open in wordless agony.  It was the worst pain she had ever felt in her life--- like a thousand hot needles inserted into her all at once.  Somewhere, in her imagination, she heard someone cry, "No!  Stop!"

            But it didn't stop--- the spell had sought out her ankle--- and she felt like all her fingers were being broken, one by one--- her tendons ripped--- her teeth pulled out to the roots-----

            "Stop……."

            And yet, no one listened.  Her palms were being held on a hot stove, and she couldn't pull away, couldn't take them away…

            Suddenly, it was over--- and Airelle found herself back on the grass, with a dash of dawn's sunlight on her face.  Tears were streaming from her eyes, and there was something trickling from each of her ears and nostrils--- blood, most likely.  Her skin felt like it had been peeled off.

            Someone besides her was crying--- a girl---- probably Alica, but Airelle did not care.

            "Do you know," said Voldemort, and his voice sounded strangely hollow, "what practice we borrowed from the Muggles who used to persecute us?"

            Airelle's hands clawed of their own accord at the grass, searching for her wand, as he continued speaking and walking around her, his robes brushing her face softly.

            "We borrowed a little something I like to call the Separator," he said.  "It works very simply.  We tie a person---CRUCIO!"  Airelle winced, but the spell was meant for someone else---Snape, perhaps…

            "We tie him to two posts, upside down," the Dark Lord resumed as Airelle's vision began to clear.  "One leg on each side of the post--- no magic involved.  And then, we take a long saw, and begin to cut---- back and forth, back and forth, starting between his legs and going down, down, to his head.  It makes quite a nasty mess, indeed."

            "Bastard," she murmured through gritted teeth.

            "And if it were a woman—imagine all the tender flesh we'd have to carve… perhaps I'll try that today--- and after that, I'll let Wormtail give you and the others to the demon.  After all, she's itching for it…"

            "Not while I'm alive."

            He did not respond; not to her comment, anyway.  "Crucio."

            The pain returned, stronger than before, and she knew she was going to die if Voldemort kept the curse on her any longer.  She could now smell the grass, which meant her body's defenses had succumbed to the pain.  But then—

            "Coward!" said a voice, and it was hers.

            The pain ended, and Airelle threw herself upwards on her knees, facing Voldemort through a curtain of scarlet.  No one moved--- but someone was yelling in the distance.  
            "You're a coward," she repeated, amazed at herself.  "You have great power, but you kill in shadows.  You and your followers skulk in darkness like rats… afraid to show your faces beneath your hood, for fear of being betrayed by your own kind…"

            "Crucio!"

            "I have no… fear of you," she choked, despite her body's attempts to keep her from speaking.  Red spittle left her mouth and stained the ground; there was a ringing in her ears.  "You're nothing but an intimidator, a bully."

            "Avada---"

            "A… coward."

            "VOLDEMORT!"

            There was a sudden boom, and Airelle didn't know if it was her own heart exploding--- but no, it was something else--- something oddly familiar…

            A great racket followed--- people were shouting spells, curses--- someone screamed…

            Airelle blinked once, twice, but did not lift her head.  She wondered if her neck had been severed from her body yet.  It certainly felt like it.

            People were Apparating—there were faint pops--- more hexes, lights and colors flying---

            "Fools!" shrieked Voldemort.  "Kill them!"

            As she struggled to regain her vision, several voices shouted "Avada Kedavra!"  There were blinding flashes of green--- and Snape's voice--- and…

            Something snapped, and Airelle was finally able to see through the smoke.  Out of it came Aurors, the number of which she couldn't discern.  But front and center was a figure in a large blue hat and blue velvet robes swaying in the sun, his lips set tight under his long white beard.

            "Voldemort!" he roared, raising his wand.  But the Dark Lord, swift as a shadow, moved to the side, away from the spell, his profile turned towards Airelle.  It seemed as if he'd lost this battle--- his Death Eaters were either dead or had Disapparated.  This reminded her of something--- except she couldn't remember what…

            "Headmaster?" she whispered.

            Could it be?  Had Sirius Black actually gone for help before returning to the museum?

            But no… it was probably all a dream, a soft, pleasant dream that belied the true state of things.  But Airelle raised her head now anyway, just to hold that dream a little longer, just a little…

            Voldemort's voice hissed suddenly in her ears.  "You foolish old man--- you think you'll win--- perhaps this battle, but not the war…

            "I leave you with a little parting gift, then…"

            Someone yelled, "NO!"

            But Voldemort had already spoken the words.  Airelle felt herself lifted up completely in mid-air by something overpowering and green--- green like Harry Potter's eyes, green like the burning slits in her nightmares… 

            The curse hit straight through her robes and into her heart.  Airelle Vilka slammed into the museum wall and slid down, ever so slowly, into a cavernous darkness.

To Be Continued…

A/N: A brief note… the Empusa, in my mythology books, was described as a denizen ghost (I think they mean more of a ghoul) of the Greek Underworld who had the legs of a donkey and drank human blood.  I assumed the rest of her body was human.

A/N #2: Don't die of shock (as if you would… heh) and wait for the final chapter (but not the Epilogue) of this tale.


	31. Lazarus

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

A/N:  Yes.  This is short.  Deal with it. :)

Chapter 31 ~ Lazarus

            _So this is what death feels like.  Very cold… but--- but---_

_            I had no idea dying would be so…_

_            So…_

_            Painful?_

            She was lying crumpled on her left side, her head pushing against something hard, like a brick wall.  Her ankle, and her arm… hurt tremendously.  She felt liquid on her face.  Slowly, she opened her mouth and tasted copper.  Blood.

            Her blood.

            It hurt to breathe… but she did anyway.  Her right eye fluttered open—the other, for some reason, would not--- and she saw grass swaying in a light breeze.  Green grass, green like something else she had a hard time remembering…

            The Elysian Fields?  Or hell?  Heaven?  Purgatory?  What?

            The grass was beautiful, though—all sunlit and whispering…

            Looking down, Airelle noticed the reason why her left arm hurt so much—it was bent under her side at a highly unnatural angle.  Her vision went up quickly again, to---

            Voices.  There were voices some distance away from her feet… a man was whispering softly, but she couldn't see who…

            "Ohh…" She rolled her head sideways, feeling every muscle scream in objection, and faced the bright blue sky.  Then, she uttered the first name that came into her mind.

            "Severus…"

            There was a pause, even in the wind, it seemed.

            "Severus?" she asked, more impatiently.  Even at this state, her mind knew there was something wrong.  She wasn't supposed to have lived through this.  Was she?

            "Airelle?"  There was a crash; someone had dropped something.  The quick patter of feet, and a heap of tattered black robes landed next to her.

            "Headmaster!" yelled Snape's voice, and freezing hands touched her shoulders.  Airelle opened one eye enough to gaze into her best friend's pasty-white face.

            "Airelle--- can you hear me?" he said, raising his voice almost to an atrociously squeaky pitch.  Or perhaps her ears were hurting too much to hear any voice normally.

            "Uh-huh."  She tried to roll over on her back, and succeeded with a great deal of pain and moaning.

            "Don't move," Snape ordered (a bit too late) as another person kneeled at Airelle's side--- and she recognized Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts.  His beard tickled her chin, and he moved it over his shoulder.  His face was as pale as Snape's, but his eyes were twinkling.

            "By Merlin's wand," said another voice, and Airelle glanced off to the side, past Dumbledore.  Sirius Black was standing there, nursing a bruised arm and staring at her incredulously.  "I should tell—"

            "Stay, Sirius," said Dumbledore, raising a hand.  "The others do not need to see this just yet."

            "But Headmaster--- she needs medicine—" Black began, but a look from the elder wizard stopped him entirely.  Airelle didn't quite understand what was happening, and buried her eyes in Dumbledore's.  Snape, apparently, was using the last of his iron will to hold himself in check and not speak until the other had finished.

            "We thought you were dead, Airelle," said Dumbledore as she blinked at him more rapidly, regaining the feeling of her limbs.  "And as well you should have been.  Lord Voldemort struck you with the Killing Curse before I could get to you."

            Airelle stopped blinking.  The green light—

            "Yes," said Dumbledore, placing a hand on her right palm, which seemed unhurt.  "Voldemort and his horde have escaped—at least some of them.  Omar Fauks and his closest Auror companions have the others.  They were the ones who came with me here—the ones who attended the meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.  Sirius interrupted us--- we had had no idea you would go to Voldemort on your own… but when I learned that students had been captured as well---"

            Airelle's good eye widened considerably, and Dumbledore's look insinuated that he'd read her thoughts.

            "The children are safe.  Miss Patts and Mr. Longbottom are on their way to St. Mungo's, where they are expected to recuperate fully from their wounds.  Sirius told me about your return to help them.  I reckon it will earn you an Order of Merlin, First Class--- many a brave wizard would not dare to face a demon on his own.  Not to mention Severus here tells me that you saved his life… and stalled Voldemort… and challenged him to a duel, subjecting yourself to the Cruciatus Curse."

            Airelle paid no attention to his words of praise.  Her only thought was centered on Voldemort, and the red eyes of fury he had cast on her.

            "Miss Tylon and Mr. Weasley will return to Hogwarts.  Severus," ---here, much like Voldemort's, Dumbledore's gaze did not leave Airelle's, though he was addressing someone else--- "you will return there shortly as well, to keep up appearances.  Sirius, you will stay with me… we have some things to discuss."

            Airelle began to blink again.  Both Snape and Black looked pensive.

            "Things that involve all of you.  But we shall not speak of that now…" Dumbledore paused, and his eyes twinkled again.  "When Airelle recovers, we will have more time.  Lord Voldemort believes that you are dead, and that is crucial."

            Her lips formed the word, "How---"

            "A stroke of pure luck," said Dumbledore, smiling.  "May I?"

            She stared at him quizzically.  Incidentally, so did Snape.

            "Headmaster?" he asked as Airelle finally nodded.  "How did she survive an Avada Kedavra?  Surely—"

            "No, Severus," laughed Dumbledore softly, "I am afraid Airelle is no Harry Potter.  However…"

            Airelle watched as the wizard's hand reached into the left breast pocket of her robes, and pulled out tiny, glowing pieces of… paper?

            Snape's eyes widened, and Dumbledore smiled as the paper crumbled to ash in his palms and evaporated.  And then, Airelle understood.

            The Mortis Potion.  She had put the paper into her robes before she'd left for the forest and the museum.  And it could only be destroyed by the person it was meant for.  Voldemort was the heir of the recipe— and he had fired the curse straight into it.

            Dumbledore's blue eyes crinkled, and his mouth curved into the warmest smile she had ever seen.  "A very fortunate young lady you are indeed, Miss Vilka.  I hoped things would turn out this way."

            "I—"

            "Later, my dear, later… Forgive me for being so abrupt, but I shall go now… there are many things to do, and they must be done quickly… Severus, please tend to her…"

            She stared at him as he rose and walked away, leaving Severus Snape alone with her.  Sirius Black had disappeared somewhere by this time.  Airelle didn't really care where he'd gone; they were safe, and that was all she needed to know.  Like Dumbledore had said--- the discussions would come later.

            She smiled up at Snape as he looked down at her from his knees.  His black eyes still burned in a face as white as a linen sheet.

            "You're bleeding," she said, reaching up with her right arm to brush his hair out of his face; the black roots were caked in drying blood.

            He carefully laid her arm back down.  "Nothing life-threatening, compared to you."

            She winced; her throat was horribly dry.  "I take it… I shouldn't look in a mirror, lest it cracks?"

            "You have bruises from where you hit the wall--- all down your left side," he said flatly, as if that would explain everything.

            "I know… and my arm is broken… my left eye is swollen, not to mention all the cuts I received in that tangle with the Empusa."  Her lips stretched into a tiny smile again.  "I bet I'm a worthy candidate for Mangled Mess Queen."

            Snape just looked down at her, his eyes scrutinizing hers.   It was a long time before he spoke.

            "You risked your life for me… for us."

            She nodded.  "I know."

            "Airelle?"

            "Hmm?"

            "I don't renounce what I said before," he continued, though his eyes betrayed a smile.  "You are still the biggest idiot I have ever laid eyes on."

            A shrug was out of the question, no matter how much she wished for it.  "I know."

            Snape closed his eyes; she didn't quite know why.  When he opened them again, they glittered.  His hand patted her good arm absently, and his lips were parted, as if he was going to say something, to spill words he would later regret.  And his eyes resembled jewels in snow, brilliant and so difficult to comprehend.

            Then, as suddenly as it had come, the look disappeared, and he quickly rose from his place, stretching his legs and wincing slightly.

            "We must conjure a stretcher for you," he said, walking away a few steps and turning back to look at her.  "I shall ask the Headmaster about where to take you after this, then…"  Not finishing his sentence, he swept off in a rather rude manner, leaving Airelle on the grass --- bruised, bloody, and smiling.

            "You're welcome," she said.

**~*FINIS*~**

**_Stay tuned for the very important Epilogue--- I'm not finished yet!_**


	32. Epilogue - The Best of Times

Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Epilogue ~ The Best of Times

            Rain pattered on the dark upstairs window of Ollivander's Wand Shop in Diagon Alley.  Lights from a candle on the worn table danced merrily in the cobwebbed corners of the room, and a small fire steamed a kettle and sent smoke up the chimney.  A heavy odor of pinewood was in the air, and a large cat lay curled on the rug at the foot of the bed.  It was small and cozy, like the room itself, and sported a dappled quilt laid diagonally across two pillows.

            A tall figure, the only occupant of this room, sat hunched at the table, a tight bun of white, thinning hair facing the door and an aged, preserved face looking thoughtfully out of the window and into the night.  Her fingers were long and well-practiced, peeking out from the edges of her sleeves and drumming on the wood.  Her eyes were dark and shining behind her horn-rimmed glasses, her mouth thin and pursed under high, noble cheekbones, a testament of her former beauty.  In and out she breathed, slowly, her moth-eaten robes rising and falling with each lungful… waiting.

            If she had learned anything in her years as an Auror, it was that patience paid well.

            And patience was definitely what she needed now.

            Airelle straightened her new glasses, which were sliding off the bridge of her nose, and blinked rapidly.  Thankfully, her vision was still perfectly clear; the glasses were artificial and a part of her disguise, suitable to her new appearance.  It was so very strange to look in the mirror now, and have to stare twice before realizing that your reflection was actually accurate.

            She had to give props, however, to Omar Fauks's associates at the Ministry for developing a new Aging Potion that did not weaken one's abilities.  _After all, I doubt I would be able to fight off a dozen Death Eaters with my walking stick,_ she thought with a small grin.

            In front of her, the candle illuminated a large stack of books, with titles ranging from "How to Act Like the Perfect Fussbudget," to "Habits, Customs, and Recipes of Elderly Witches in England," and "Magic in Bed: A Guide for the Matured Witch."  The last one was still open to page 109; Airelle had turned the book round and round to figure out which way the diagram went, and had finally given up.

            The entire plan would have been ludicrous, if it were not for one simple fact – Airelle Vilka was dead.

            Well, dead to everyone but a few, who knew her real fate.  But most importantly, dead to Lord Voldemort.  That was the invaluable asset the Order of the Phoenix needed – she could replace Severus Snape as the spy in the Dark Lord's circle, because he considered Airelle Vilka deceased.  Guided by Snape's experience in the Death Eater fold, and the firm hand of Dumbledore, she would help bring Voldemort down.

            But in what way was she to infiltrate?  And how well would she fool anyone?  

Airelle sniffed the air and sighed, weary.  They'd offered her a chance to return to Hogwarts in glory, and continue to lead a professor's existence, and be ready when Voldemort struck.  Omar, who had supervised her secret transformation from her true self to an old woman, even suggested for her to pass from memory and disappear.  She could have taken a teacher's absence from Hogwarts and never return – could have started a new life, under a new identity…

            _But idiot that I am, I chose the hard way,_ she thought, narrowing her eyes and pressing the tips of her fingers together in thought.  She'd joined the Order of the Phoenix as she'd promised, and decided to stay under wraps until called.  The hard part was that the day after the fight in Aberdeenshire, she was pronounced dead, a victim of the Avada Kedavra that had destroyed the recipe for the Mortis Potion.  The only people who knew the truth numbered nine: the ones present at her awakening – Dumbledore, Snape, and Sirius Black – and now, Omar Fauks, McGonagall, Remus Lupin, Ollivander, and Airelle's parents.  It was too dangerous to tell any others, for fear that Voldemort might torture them for information, or they might accidentally blurt it out someplace.  Omar had judged that Cornelius Fudge should not be told, due to his great indelicacy and tendency to distrust Dumbledore's plans, but the decision had not been finalized yet.  Dumbledore had the last word in the matter, and it was better that way.  Working behind Fudge's back would prove much more difficult and dangerous, if they were to keep their affairs secret…

In short, Airelle was waiting for a sign from the Order of the Phoenix, waiting as patiently as she could.  It was June now—she had been waiting two months.

            And why did she do it, why?  It was definitely not for an award or some tribute to heroism.  _Perhaps I feel guilty,_ she wondered, _for resigning my job as an Auror, for running away from the battle.  Maybe it really was my calling after all.  Or maybe, I want to do something to help destroy the wizard who killed so many…  who tortured my best friend… who nearly killed me as well.  Just maybe---_

            Her train of thought halted with a screech.  She'd seen something outside the window, staring up at her from the back alley.  

Eyes.  Glowing eyes.

            Cursing in a tongue most had forgotten, Airelle leapt up – with surprising agility for a woman of her aged appearance – and slid her wand from her sleeve.  In a second or two, she was stationed on the left side of the windowsill, away from the exposed glass.  The candle flame, disturbed by her sudden motion, leaped angrily in its attempts to remain on its wick.

            Her breaths came in shallow gasps, but her gaze was alive and burning with battle.  Those eyes had not been human.

            Cautiously, wand raised, she peered out from behind the wall and out of the window, her mouth open and ready to utter a spell.  Her eyes fell to the pavement below—but nothing greeted her.  Whatever that thing was, it was gone.

            Her eyebrows furled, and she looked around further.  Nothing; all she could see was wet stone.  Perhaps she had imagined it?  Hallucinated?  Or maybe, it was a stray cat or dog that happened to look up at her window.  _Perhaps I'm becoming more paranoid than I thought…_

            Suddenly, the cat next to the bed hissed and bolted under the quilt.

            There was a BANG downstairs, as if a door had been opened and slammed.  A clatter of glass, then silence--- and Airelle's thoughts flew.  Ollivander was down there.  But who—who could have known he was sheltering her?  Who could have recognized her, even in disguise?

            Finally deciding it was better to act, she slowly opened the door and crept down the stairs, clutching her wand close to her chest.  It was still deathly quiet – no footsteps or anything.  If it had been someone from the front door, a bell would have rung—so, he or she must have entered from the back door, the side of the shop her window looked out of.  The alley where she'd seen the eyes…

            _Oh, no._

            Her heartbeat sounded as loud as a drum to her ears as she picked her way down the railing, among the shelves, full of boxes and dust – towards the back of the shop.

            _Please, Mr. Ollivander, still be alive.  Please…_

Her hands twitched in anticipation as she came to the end of the room and the door that led to the back.  The said door was ajar, and thin light streamed out onto her feet.  Silently, she crossed the threshold and---

            The large room was empty and cold, despite the presence of a small fireplace – and that meant the back door had just been opened.  Only a broken vase lay on the floor, its shards winking up at her in the glow.  Her pulse racing, she had put one more step into the room when---

            "Now what are you doing creeping around at night?" said a voice from behind her, and Airelle's heart nearly rammed its way into her throat.  She jumped and spun; only years of practice stopped her from yelling out a hex before her brain had processed the words.

            "Calm yourself, my child," said Mr. Ollivander, stepping into the light and leaning onto a cane.  He wore a burgundy nightgown under a thick woolen shawl, a white nightcap, and enormous but tasteful black slippers.  Behind him crouched a gigantic and shaggy dog, with huge lamp-like eyes.

            Airelle's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

            "Come," said Ollivander, "sit down in the chair and share a cup of tea with us."

            Somehow, Airelle allowed herself to be led to a plush armchair in front of the fire, still staring at the dog as if her eyes had been sewn open.  Ollivander perched himself opposite her, also in front of the fire, and the dog sat next to him.

            "Us?" she finally managed to choke out, not touching the mug Ollivander had handed her.

            "Oh, you don't know?" asked the wizard, looking mildly surprised at her shock.  "Well… how silly of me to frighten you.  The wind slammed the door so hard that my vase fell down… I'll sweep it up later."

            "And… and you opened the door--- to let this dog in?!"

            "Why, of course," said Ollivander, smiling.  "I was expecting a visitor--- but I was not expecting you to be awake."

            "But the—"

            "He is our guest," laughed the old man, now grinning from ear to ear.  "You did not frighten her, now did you?" he asked the dog, which was wagging its tail like a broom over the floor.  Airelle stared--- blinked--- and suddenly understood.

            "You don't mean--- that's not---"

            The dog sniffed at her, and before she could blink again, it was gone.  A man had appeared in its place, tall and dark-haired with mischievous eyes, wearing travel robes and a small, quirky smile.

            "You!" she exclaimed, jumping from the armchair and goggling at him.  "An Animagus?"

            Sirius Black shrugged and made a face at her.  "How do you think I've been avoiding capture all this time?" he asked.  "Or how I reached the museum in Aberdeenshire again without being seen, after warning Dumbledore?"

            Airelle heaved a sigh and looked away, aware of his eyes boring questioningly into hers.  He knew of her affair with Snape, and the hatred the latter still harbored for him, though it was now clear to the Order that Black was innocent.  Still… she couldn't help remembering, whenever she looked at him, those pictures of his emaciated face shown on Muggle television…  That thought made her look up at him quickly again.

            "Were you standing outside all this time?"

            He nodded.  "Yes.  Until Mr. Ollivander let me in."

            "Why were you staring up at my window?" she asked, sitting back down and shivering slightly at the memory.  Ollivander settled back in his chair and sipped his tea quietly.

            "Have you looked in the mirror lately?" replied Black, his mouth still curled in a small smile that did not quite reach his eyes.  "I thought I had come to the wrong house."

            "Yes, well--- it was Dumbledore's suggestion and Omar's expertise that made this Aging Potion find its way into my hands," she said, staring down at her knobby, wrinkled palms.  "It is for a good cause."

            "Has Snape seen you?" he asked.  There was absolutely no emotion in the question, but as Airelle looked up, she could have sworn that a flash of distaste had passed through his gaze.

            "Not yet.  He has gone back to Hogwarts, to finish the year."

            "I see," said Black, shifting slightly from side to side as if bored.  "Well--- I came here for a reason."

            "Yes," said Ollivander, crossing his arms over his shawl.  "A message from the Order of the Phoenix, correct?  They did not wish to send it by owl…"

            Sirius looked back at the door before answering.  "Is it safe?"

            Ollivander nodded.  "Ever since Ms. Vilka's arrival here, there have been double spells for protection from prying eyes and ears."

            "Good… then here it is."  Reaching into the inner recesses of his robes, Black produced two small letters, one of which he gave to Ollivander.  The other he held stiffly in his hand.  "Destroy them after reading immediately.  Dumbledore's orders."

            "Of course," Ollivander nodded, smiling reassuringly.  "Albus has always been careful."

            Black did not reply, but fished out another envelope from his pocket – a larger one, crisp and blank.

            "For you," he said, handing both the small and the large envelopes to Airelle.  "One identical to Mr. Ollivander's, and another."

            She raised an eyebrow at him.  "From whom?"

            "Open it and see," said Black irritably, turning to the shopkeeper.  "I must go now… Animagus or not, I should not be seen."

            Ollivander nodded once.  "Thank you.  Go."

            Black was at the door when Airelle stood up from her armchair.  The fire crackled merrily now.

            "Sirius?"

            He swiveled, but did not say anything.  She bit her lip noticeably.

            "How are… Harry… and the others?"

            For the first time, he did not meet her eyes.  "Read the letter, Ms. Vilka," he said, turning back around.  "We shall discuss events… and our plans later."

            "Sirius," she said more roughly as his hand went to the doorknob.  This time, he did not turn.  "Sirius."

            "What?" he murmured, and it was as though they were alone in the room.  On Airelle's part, it was almost… an apology?  An apology for believing him guilty of the murders that Pettigrew had committed?

            Her face softened, though he could not see it.  "Thank you."

            Black nodded slowly, but almost unnoticeably, and twisted the knob.

            He'd been gone a long time when Airelle finally turned to go to bed, and found herself facing Mr. Ollivander.

            "Are you all right, my dear?" he asked.  His nightcap was lopsided over his white hair, and his keen blue eyes showed concern.  "You should head upstairs, and get some sleep."

Airelle gave him a feeble smile.  "It will be a long time, sir," she said, walking past him now, "before I sleep well again.  But good night nonetheless."

            "Isn't that the truth," she heard him say as she began her trek to the staircase.  "Isn't that the truth, indeed."

~*~

            The cat emerged from under the quilt an hour after Airelle had re-entered the bedroom and removed her robe.  She did not dare look in the mirror to see herself in a nightgown, and did not bother to brush her hair.  She was too nervous and eager to read the letter, like a schoolgirl.  The two envelopes lay on the table in front of her, and she admired them as if they were made of gold with silver decorative leaflets.  Both were blocked with identification spells, which she had had to complete in order to read the contents. She had not received owls from anyone but her parents, and even that had been a single, discreet note addressed to Ollivander.  The worst part was not knowing whether she would ever see Hogwarts again… or die at Voldemort's hands, and this time for real… unknown and unmourned…

            Her hands, already smoother than they had been an hour before, (she would have to drink more Aging Potion to make herself used to it and keep up appearances) removed the letter from the smaller envelope.  It had no return address, or indeed, any address at all, and ran simply thus:

_Dear Airelle:_

_            Time presses upon me, so I shall make this short.  Everything has been taken care of, according to your wishes.  Miss Tylon, Miss Patts, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Longbottom have recovered fully and are back at Hogwarts.  Ms. Delilah Haze has awakened and is in the care of Remus and Madam Pomfrey.  You shall see more of her shortly.  For now, everything is as well as it can be at Hogwarts.  I will send you a messenger to inform you of a meeting of the Order sometime next week.  If all is well, I shall have your assignment then, and we will discuss our plans.  Hagrid, though a part of the Order, shall not be present.  He has his own mission with the giants of the North to fulfill, commissioned directly by me; but you shall hear of that later.  He is not aware that you are alive, since he has a tendency to be rather loquacious under the influence of drink.  As for the rest, they will attend.  Please be careful and patient; and remember to use your alias when in public._

_                                                                                                                                                Yours sincerely,_

_                                                                                                                                                Albus Dumbledore_

            Tossing the letter into the fireplace, Airelle put her chin on her hands and thought hard.  So, the Order of the Phoenix would meet.  And then--- and then what?  Would they, as she'd guessed earlier, make her a spy in Voldemort's fold?  Was she ready for this?

            She decided to leave these thoughts and digest them in the morning.  Meanwhile, there was the second letter to worry about.

            She tore it open, and there were two sheets of paper in it—-one white, the other brown, which looked like a newspaper clipping.  She took out the white one first, and read:

_Airelle:_

_            A funeral was held for you soon after Hogwarts got the news.  I did not attend, and Saint Potter thought me heartless.  All too well; that will erase the rumors of what happened in Aberdeenshire._

_            Dumbledore has sent me a letter, which you will get as well—though he did not tell me how he planned to send this to you.  In any case, I write freely, without cryptograms here, because I trust his judgment—at least to a certain extent.  I shall see you at the meeting of the Order.  I do not know what they plan to do, but I strongly suspect they will insert another spy into Voldemort's circle, since I am only useful from a distance now.  If that spy turns out to be you, I shall leave the decision to your will.  _(Airelle frowned at this; Snape was forcing the words from himself.  She wondered if he would protest if Dumbledore decided to choose her as the spy.)  _In the meantime, be safe, and do not go out in public unless necessary.  Use your alias._

                                                                                                                                                S. Snape.

            She tossed this into the fire as well, but not before holding it tightly in her hand.  If she were called upon to be with the Death Eaters, she would rarely, if ever, see him again—

            Another thought to leave until morning.

            With a sigh, she reached back into the envelope for the other contents—and, as she'd guessed, it was a clipping from the _Daily Prophet_'s main rival, _Wizard World._  Within it was wrapped a small piece of paper, and read, in Snape's smooth hand: _I thought you might enjoy this._

            Curious, she unwrapped the clipping--- and nearly fell over laughing.

            On it was a picture of none other than Gilderoy Lockhart, half-dressed and running about like a raccoon with its tail on fire, his blonde hair strewn over his perfect face and his eyes bulging.  From the photograph, it looked like some woman was chasing Lockhart all over the grounds of a shack.  And smack on the top were the lines:

Wizard World Gossip Column: "More Than One Can Chew" 

_by Dill Cunningham_

It appears that the _Daily Prophet_'s star reporters are dallying with more than just storylines.  For instance, take an event that just occurred yesterday, in which self-proclaimed news genius Gilderoy Lockhart won himself more publicity than he ever wanted.  That day, I had received an anonymous owl that carried an address and suspicious contents.  Consequently, a few colleagues and I went to check if all was well--- and lo and behold, we found Mr. Lockhart tarrying there with Velma Pollort, a well-known courtesan in the area.  When we questioned him about his behavior, Mr. Lockhart refused to answer, and was consequently chased about the grounds by an apparently angry Ms. Pollort.  Well, all I can say is that his 5-time win of _Witch Weekly_'s Most Charming Smile Award really did get him somewhere.  As they say: Be careful what you wish for.

            Grinning, Airelle settled back in the chair and decided to keep this one close at hand, in case she needed a laugh during these rough times.  Oh yes, Severus Snape definitely knew how to get revenge.

~*FINIS*~

A/N: So.  It is done.  A year, and more… and it is done.  Sleepless nights, kiss my bum. :)  Did you like?  Want more?  Well, stay tuned for the sequel, _Kavaleria _Nox, in which you will see more of the main characters, new characters, dark plotlines, and everything in between!  Thank you for everything, my dear readers and reviewers--- you're the reason I'm here.  *dances the can-can for your viewing pleasure*


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